Final Breath
by Eniko151
Summary: AGE OF ULTRON SPOILERS. Alternate ending to Avengers: Age Of Ultron. Includes the death of Pietro/Quicksilver. Do miracles exist? There's a likely chance if Wanda/Scarletwitch is involved. Don't forget to review ;)
1. A Fallen Warrior

The air was thick with dust. It clouded around Pietro as he skidded to a halt, spotting a figure in the dirty fog. Pietro gasped as, when the dust cleared, he saw that it was Clint. The archer was running towards the crowd of people already clustered at the edge of the rising city. A child, no older than 6, was cradled in his arms, a woman, who could only be the boy's mother, was yelling at them from her seat. Pietro could see the danger, Clint couldn't. Not yet.

The bullets started.

They crashed onto the ground like lightning, advancing towards Clint and the boy. Clint froze as the bullets advanced on him. His expression hardened and he half crouched, turning his face away from the bullets, attempting to shield the boy with his body. Pietro started to run towards him, a silver blur across the ground. Time slowed as he noticed a partly smashed car, balanced on its side.

 _Would Clint and the boy be protected by it?_ Pietro asked himself as he sprinted forwards.

 _It's a chance. I'll do whatever it takes._

He zoomed up to Clint, grabbing the archer around the waist and pushing him behind the car. Pietro's mouth opened in a soundless wail of pain as numerous bullets pierced his skin, leaving large holes in his flesh where red liquid flowed out, staining his shirt. His chest heaved and he stared at the ground, shock and unbearable pain jolting through him. His arms were still half raised towards Clint; they trembled visibly. Clint turned round and his eyes widened in shock and horror as he saw Pietro.

Pietro looked up at him and managed to struggle out a few words. "Bet you didn't see that coming."

His whole body shook with the effort of standing and his legs buckled. He fell to the ground on his side; trying to stop himself with his arms but he collapsed ungracefully, his head hitting the ground, hard. Clint and the boy were staring at him, their eyes big as moons. As Pietro took in a shaky breath, his ears were filled with the chilling scream of his sister, Wanda.

 _No_ , he thought stubbornly. _No, I'm not going to leave her._

He felt blood trickle out of his body; it dripped onto the dusty ground. It felt hot and sticky against his skin. He fought for breath a moment longer; Clint came and crouched beside him, the boy on his knees near the car, a look of sorrow and desperation painted on the archer's grimy face. Agony threatened to overwhelm Pietro and he swallowed painfully, gasping in a last, struggling breath.

 _I'm sorry Wanda. I'm sorry._

His limbs went limp, a small sigh escaped him and his eyes flickered shut, falling into darkness.


	2. Siblings

_I'm dead. I died. I'm dead. There's no way I could be alive… So why am I still thinking?_ _  
Is this what happens when you die? Do you just feel the pain forever?_

Pietro began to notice a weak beat in his chest, the noise growing loud in his ears. He stirred and coughed weakly, making blood bubble at his mouth and a sharp, terrible pain lance through his body. He took several shivering breaths, trembling violently. Anguish made him let out a weak moan and he felt his right arm fall off of the place where he was lying on his back. It dangled limply in the air. He attempted to pull it back up, his fear rising when it didn't move.

"Môj Brata. Mier, môj Brata. Ste v bezpečí." A gentle voice whispered above him.

 _Wanda_ , Pietro thought joyously, blinking open his eyes a fraction. His vision was blurry and he couldn't make out any distinguishable features on the cloudy figure of his sister. He opened his mouth, spluttering at the taste of blood and a thin trickle wound down his jaw. Wanda made a soft hushing noise and laid a hand on the side of his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. Pietro blinked, tears forming in his eyes and swallowed, wincing at the taste of his own blood. His legs, covered with his ripped trousers, felt stiff and sore and they didn't move when he tried to lift them.

Suddenly his body seized up and shook uncontrollably, his head lifted off the table, thrashing rigidly. He yelled as pain took over and he gritted his teeth. He dimly heard a rushed movement from Wanda and within seconds her hand was over his heart. Her touch felt warm on his bare chest and Pietro's vision washed with the familiar red colour of her powers. He felt calmness shroud his thoughts and knew Wanda was using her power to keep him stable. His tense muscles relaxed and his head fell back onto the hard surface.

Every heavy breath made his heart ache, tears of anguish slipping down the sides of his face. He rolled his head to each side trying to catch a glimpse of his sister. She cupped his head in her hands, lifting it off the table slightly, and kissed him gently on the forehead.

"Zvyšok Brata."

Pietro felt himself slipping into unconsciousness, though he wasn't sure if it was Wanda's powers or not. His glassy gaze rested on his sister, trying to take in all of her blurred details, scared that he would forget her. His eyes rolled back in his head, darkness claiming him.

* * *

Translation-

Môj Brata= my brother

Mier= peace

Ste v bezpečí= you're safe

Zvyšok = Rest


	3. Shadow Man

Pietro lay, asleep, on a white, stone table. His eyes moved restlessly beneath his eyelids, as if he was suffering from a nightmare. His fingers twitched and trembled; arms and legs tensing. He cried out from time to time, flinching as though he was being hit.

"Pietro?"

Pietro awoke, but kept his eyes closed, at the voice; it was muffled and dim against the beating noise of his heart, unnaturally loud in his ears. He again felt the sharp pain, dotted around his body. _Who's that?_ He asked himself, squeezing his eyes tighter shut. _I don't recognise the voice._

"Pietro?" The voice whispered his name again. "Are you alright?"

Pietro opened his eyes a crack, blinking as they adjusted to the new light. He longed to stretch his, aching, stiff muscles but he didn't have the strength to move. He could make out the dark silhouette of a man, standing above him. He frowned slightly. _I should know that voice…_ _I can't see who it is… Is there something wrong with my vision?_ He began to panic; certain it showed as the man standing above him began to speak again.

"It's Ok. Don't worry. Wanda says she's prevented you from moving too much for the moment because if you do you might d… You… might hurt yourself more."

 _He was about to say I would die._ Pietro realised with a jolt of fear. He lifted a hand slowly off the table and flexed it experimentally. It moved, to his delight. He heard a sharp intake of breath from the man and he laid his hand back down on the table. The man above him blew out a quiet sigh of relief. _Can i not even move one hand without dying_? Pietro wondered, his fear increasing. Pietro heard a little _'whoosh'_ noise as a door opened. Someone muttered something inaudible and the man above Pietro replied with...

"Tell her I'll be right there."

He saw the outline of the man turn back to face him again.

"I have to go. I'll come back to see you later."

Pietro made a sort of whining sound in his throat as the man turned to leave. _Hang on… Don't go,_ he longed to say.

"Don't worry." The man assured him, sensing his anxiousness. "Wanda will be back soon."

Seconds later the door opened again with the same _'whooshing'_ noise and he heard the man's footsteps growing quieter as he left the room and walked away.


	4. Strength

"Wanda. We need you for this mission."

"No. I can't leave him."

"Fury's asking for you."

"Tell him that unless he wants my brother to die I am not going."

"We can't all stay. You know he'll want to."

"No we can't. Only I can stay in the tower. You make him go. He doesn't need to stay here."

"Fine. I'll try and persuade him to go. He'll want news if anything changes though."

"Then I'll give him news. Send his number to my mobile and I can call him if there's change."

The door shut with the almost familiar _'whooshing'_ noise.  
 _Who's he?_ Pietro wondered. _You know he'll want to stay the person had said. Was it the same man who had visited yesterday?_

Pietro let out several hoarse coughs and Wanda rushed to his side. He lifted his right hand a fraction, gesturing that he was alright. Wanda looked slightly surprised that he could move. He reached out his arm and grasped her hand. She pushed herself onto the table and sat beside him. He smiled slightly. She squeezed his hand reassuringly and he squeezed hers in return. Wanda's stomach did a backflip. _He's so weak._ _I could barely feel that,_ she thought to herself, worriedly.

Wanda studied her brother's face. He looked tired and confused; dark rings around his eyes. His cheekbones sharp against his pale complexion. His blue eyes, open now, were unfocused and cloudy. He stared up at her, managing a small smile. Her eyes grew warm as she felt tears forming. She blinked them away and smiled back at Pietro. _I can't show weakness. I have to be strong for him._ She leant down and kissed her brother's knuckles before sliding off the table, placing his hand back on the white surface.

"I'll be back in a few minutes." She promised him quietly.

Pietro made a soft murmuring noise in his throat.

"I just have to get some medicine for you. Don't move. I won't be long."

She left the room via the door and walked, hurriedly, down the corridor. Pietro lifted his head to watch her walk past the large glass window and out of sight. Soon the effort of keeping his head up became too much and he let to drop back down on the table. He groaned as it hit the surface with a small thud. _I wonder when i'll be well enough to move and go on missions,_ he wondered to himself. _Will i ever get better?_

* * *

After a few minutes he became bored, twiddling his thumbs and glancing up to see if Wanda had returned. He decided to test whether he was able to move yet. Hesitantly shuffling his hands up so they were by his waist, he pushed them against the table.

"Ah. Oww." He moaned as he pushed himself up.

He tried to put most of his weight on his arms as he straightened his back. He grunted as he stretched, a sharp pain in his many wounds making him groan. He stretched his spine, wincing at first but relishing it more once the pain had decreased slightly. Suddenly Wanda pushed open the door, making him jump and his right arm slipped of he table, making him fall onto his side. He steadied himself, getting up again, letting out small grunting noises. Wanda threw something on a chair and ran over to him.

"Pietro! What… Pietro don't! …Lie down." She pleaded, stroking his head, soothingly, and helping him to lie back on the table.

"I… Wand…" He choked out some inaudible words, mouth gaping.

Wanda took his jaw in her hand, shushing him desperately. Tears trickled down her face, the salty taste going in her mouth. She rushed over to the chair, wiping them away with her sleeve and picked up a syringe filled with a greenish liquid. She fumbled about putting the needle in while she walked to Pietro's side. She touched the tube with a finger, her eyes glowing, and turned the liquid red. She gently lifted Pietro's arm off the table, pushing the needle in his forearm. He winced as she injected it, the liquid entering his bloodstream. Pietro's arm tingled, shuddering all the way up to his shoulder.

"It should speed your metabolism. Even more than it already is. You should heal quicker." Wanda informed him, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I'm going to get you to sleep now. I'll wake you later."

Pietro gave a small nod and the corner of his mouth twitched in the beginning of a smile.

Wanda gazed down at him. "Goodnight Brother."

Pietro opened, closed and opened his mouth again, attempting to speak but no words came, only a short murmur. Wanda hushed him again and placed her index finger on his temple. His eyelids closed, head rolling to the side, as he fell into a dreamless sleep.


	5. Trust Me

"Hey. Pietro? I'm back."

Pietro opened his eyes slowly and blinked up at the person above him. It was that man again. He features were clearer this time, Wanda's injection seemed to be working, but he still couldn't make out who it was. _Who are you?_ Pietro wondered. _I know that voice._ Wanda had woken him earlier to give him some pills but he had fallen asleep again, this time of his own accord. Pietro swiped his tongue over his chapped lips. He swallowed, his mouth dry, letting out a small cough. The man lifted his head off the table and put a glass to his mouth. He tipped it upwards slightly, Pietro took a few mouthfuls before lifting a hand to gesture he'd had enough. He heard the Man walk to the other side of the room and place the glass on a counter. Pietro made a groaning noise in the back of his throat as he dropped his head back on the table. The drink had made him feel sick and dizzy. He rolled onto his side, coughing. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him onto his back.

"Careful." The man's voice warned him. "You nearly fell off."

Pietro raised his head looking up at the man. He shook his head to clear it. He gasped quietly as the man's features became clearer and he put a name to the face.

"Barton?" He croaked.

Clint smiled slightly. "Yeah. It's me." Then his face fell as Pietro put a hand to his chest. "Are you alright?"

"Mmhm." Pietro murmured, grimacing. "B… Bad ribs." He stuttered, massaging his chest, carefully avoiding the bullet wound close to his heart.

Clint looked worried, his eyebrows knitted together. Pietro decided to change the subject. "How d... Did the mis.. sion go?" He asked, stumbling over the words.

"It was fine. Took two days and we still didn't get Bucky but no one got seriously hurt so…" His voice trailed off. "Sorry."

"Noth... ing to be sorry for." He assured Clint, his voice growing stronger.

The door opened.

"Clint. Stark wants you for something."

Pietro lifted his head, recognising Natasha as she walked into the room. The door shut behind her. He rested his head back on the table as she stopped beside Clint on Pietro's right.

"What?" Clint asked. "What does he need now?"

"Beats me. Ask him yourself." Natasha said, shrugging.

She caught Pietro eye and raised the corner of her mouth. "You Ok?"

Pietro nodded and she dipped her head to him, turned heel and left the room. "Don't forget to go to Tony." She reminded Clint, throwing the last words over her shoulder.

"I'll go later." He promised her as she walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

"I'll send him an email." Clint decided aloud, walking across the room and sitting down at a desk with a computer.

He began to type quickly, letting Tony know when he'd be there. _I could get up while hes busy with that,_ Pietro thought to himself. _Why?_ A small voice echoed in his head. _Because I need to know if I can do it,_ he told himself, angrily. He rolled onto his side, shuffling into the middle of the table and pushed himself up with his arms. He swung his legs off the side of the table, gritting his teeth to stop himself grunting in pain. He slipped off, letting out a cry of pain as his legs hit the floor. Clint whipped around and leapt out of his chair.

"Kid. What on earth..."

He broke off as Pietro's knees gave way and he stumbled forwards. Clint raced over, putting an arm around his chest, catching him before he fell. He slung Pietro's arm around his neck as he helped the wounded man back to the table. Pietro limped over to the table, leaning heavily on Clint. The archer lifted him onto the white table, gently murmuring words of comfort. Pietro sat on the edge, his legs dangling down the side of the table, and buried his face in his hands, sobbing silently. Clint pushed himself up beside him.

Pietro took his hands away from his face, placing both of them on the back of his neck. He fixed his gaze at the floor, staring at nothing, allowing tears to slide freely down his cheeks. "I can't do it." He whispered, barely loud enough to hear.

Clint hesitantly reached out a hand and put it on Pietro's shoulder. "You just have to be patient. Hey. Pietro." He said as Pietro continued to sob, his shoulders shaking. "Look at me." He ordered. Pietro obeyed, turning his blue eyes on Clint. "Everything's going to be alright." He stroked back Pietro's white hair and laid a hand on the side of his tear streaked face. "Trust me."


	6. Try

Pietro yelled in pain, sitting bolt upright on the table, drenched in cold sweat. He stared around the room wildly, chest heaving as he fought for air. He turned, swinging his legs off the edge of the white surface. The crashing of the bullets still sounded loud in his ears. Pietro sighed and wiped a hand down his wet face, regaining control of his laboured breathing. The aching in his chest had numbed slightly and, thanks to Wanda, his wounds had almost healed over. He drew a hand over his shoulder, inspecting a wound where a bullet had gone through just under his collarbone on the left hand side. The hole was still visible, red and purple, yet it was no longer bleeding and had very nearly healed. Pietro almost smiled but the memory of his dream, still sharp in his mind, prevented him from doing so.

"Pietro?"

Pietro had been so caught up in looking at his wounds and thinking about his dream he hadn't noticed his sister, Wanda, entering the room.

"Are you alright?" She asked, half-running towards him.

"I'm… fine." Pietro answered her.

She tipped her head to the side, unconvinced. "How are you feeling? Better? Worse?" She questioned, laying a hand on his forehead.

Pietro nodded. "Much better. Thanks."

Wanda ran a hand over the bullet wound just to the right of his heart. He winced, letting out a tiny noise of distress, and she murmured an apology.

"You're right. Nearly healed. You have your fast metabolism to thank for that."

"And without y…" He broke off as a cough tickled the back of his throat and he swallowed it back. "Without your help I would have surely died." Pietro added, making his sister smile sadly.

"Did you see Clint when he was here?" Wanda asked, changing the subject as she sat down on the table beside her brother. She sounded as if she already knew the answer.

She knew what Pietro thought about Clint. She thought it too. He was like a father to the twins. He understood them better than anyone else.

"Yeah." He answered hesitantly, wondering if Clint had told her about him trying to get up.

Wanda looked into his eyes. "He told me what happened." She said, voicing his fears. "I don't want you to try anything like that ever again. Okay?" She told him sternly.

Pietro nodded, hanging his head. _She can be so bossy,_ he thought fondly.

"Hey." She turned his head back towards her, worried she'd upset him. "No harm done."

The silence stretched out into lengthy minutes before Wanda got up and walked across the room. She picked up some spare clothes, dark, blue trousers and a short sleeved, grey, shirt, and put them on the table beside Pietro.

"I'll leave you to get dressed." She told him and left the room.

Pietro quickly changed into the clean clothes. When he had finished, he threw his blood stained, ripped, black trousers onto a chair near the wall. He stretched the muscles in his neck, tipping his head to each side. _Whoosh._ The door opened and Wanda strode in, metal crutches in her hand.

"Want to give it a try?" She asked, smiling.

Pietro grinned. "What happened to 'don't try anything like that ever again'?" He asked, badly mimicking her voice.

Wanda held out the crutches to him, still smiling. "That's only when I'm not around."

Pietro took he crutches, putting his hands through the rings and, gripping the plastic bars tightly, slipped off the table. He stumbled, like before, but regained balance with the help of the two poles. The floor felt icy cold, beneath his bare feet, and he shuddered inwardly. Wanda eyed him, anxiously as he limped towards her.

"Where are we off to then?" He asked through gritted teeth.

"A few floors down." Wanda informed him, holding the door open. "Stark calls it the party deck."

Pietro followed Wanda out of the room, towards the elevator. She walked slowly, patiently waiting for him if he fell behind. His sister may be uncommonly patient but Pietro was not. More than once he felt like kicking something because he was used to moving much faster. Yet he knew he couldn't if he wanted to get better quickly. He continued to limp on, trailing behind his sister. They reached the lift, Wanda pressed the button and it appeared on their floor almost immediately. She let Pietro in first; she followed swiftly and pressed the number. Pietro leaned heavily on the wall of the metal elevator as it moved down the floors. Wanda noticed he was struggling and crossed the elevator, putting two fingers on her brother's wrist. She hid her concern about how erratic his pulse was. The elevator shuddered to a halt, making Pietro and Wanda both stagger; Wanda took hold of Pietro's waist, stopping him from falling.

"Thanks." He said as the lift stopped and the doors opened.

"Tony'd better fix that." She muttered as Pietro hobbled out of the lift.

Pietro limped forward, pausing occasionally to adjust his grip on the crutches. The only person in the sitting area was Banner. He was sat on the sofa, so busy fumbling about with some tracking devices he didn't notice Pietro until he sat down beside him. He jumped as Pietro sat down with a groan, dropping his crutches on the floor in front of the sofa.

"Are you supposed to be here?" Bruce asked hesitantly, putting the devices down on the glass table.

Wanda sat down on Pietro's left answering for him. "Yeah. I thought it was time he should move. Thanks to his fast metabolism he's healing quickly." She explained to Bruce, keeping one eye on her brother.

Bruce nodded and turned to Pietro. "Feeling alright?"

Pietro let out a short breath of laughter. "That's what everyone asks. 'Are you ok? You alright?'" He mimicked. Too late he realised he was being churlish and rubbed his palm on his forehead, closing his eyes. "Sorry." He apologised. "I'm fine."

Bruce looked at him sympathetically. "I know. But you're going to have to try and get used to it. The others are really worried about you."

Pietro looked up in surprise. "Seriously!? I mean... I'm not..."

The scientist frowned at him. "Pietro. In that second you decided to save Clint you proved yourself a worthy Avenger. You thought they weren't worried?"

 _An Avenger!_ He thought to himself, disbelievingly. _I'm an Avenger!_ Then he began to wonder if he would ever be able to go on a mission. _Will I recover? Ever?_ He banished the thoughts from his mind. _Don't be silly. Of course i'll recover._ So many worries crowded his mind, for a moment all he could do was shake his head.

"I... I don't know what they thought. I..." He shook his head again, too overwhelmed to speak.

Bruce picked his phone off the table. "If you don't mind an audience…" When Pietro shook his head, muttering he'd enjoy seeing the others, Bruce dialled a number into his phone.

"Tony." He called into the mobile."You'll never guess who's up."

 **A/N- Sorry. Probably too long for some people. Let me know in the reviews.** **:)**


	7. Friends

It was late in the afternoon when Tony arrived on the party deck. The sun was halfway beneath the horizon, bathing the city in an orange glow. The sky was just starting to turn into blue, a single streak of yellow in the west to indicate where the sun was. Pietro was almost asleep, his head rested on Wanda's shoulder, she stroked his hair as Bruce filled them in on recent missions. The door banged open, jolting him awake, and in strode Tony.

"Hey Kid. So Banner wasn't pulling my leg, you're finally up." He commented, vaulting the back of the sofa to sit in between Bruce and Pietro.

"Evening Stark." Pietro greeted him.

"You took your time." Bruce said to Tony.

Tony stuck his tongue out at the scientist. "I had some things to clear up." When Bruce looked unconvinced he added, indignantly. "Come on. I only took like 20 minutes."

Bruce shrugged, getting up to sit opposite them in an armchair. "Fair enough." He hesitated before mentioning. "I thought Thor and Barton were with you."

"We were."

Pietro looked over his shoulder to see Clint entering the room, Thor beside him. The archer ruffled Pietro's hair as he passed behind the sofa.

Bruce made a small tutting noise. "Clint. Wanda spent ages smoothing that down."

Wanda rolled her eyes fondly and Pietro laughed. "In case you guys haven't noticed. I'm not a dog."

"I understand that reference." Thor mumbled, only just loud enough for everyone to hear.

The room exploded into laughter. Pietro couldn't help but laugh along with them, even though it made his chest ache. The noise died down, Pietro secretly rubbing his chest. He knew if Wanda caught him in pain she would just get more worried. Wanda flashed him a glance. Pietro thought to himself, _I always forget you can read minds_. His sister smiled and tucked a strand of glossy, brown hair behind her ear. They talked for another hour, Tony making sarcastic comments and having to explain them to an innocently confused Thor.

"I should get Pietro back now." Wanda told them.

"Fair enough." Tony agreed, drunkly. "You ha… Bye Kid."

"Umm… Sure Tony. See you" Pietro decided it was better to just go along with it than try and understand what he was saying.

He picked up his crutches off the floor and hauled himself off the sofa. Wanda and Clint were waiting at the door.

"Can you manage it?" She asked him.

Pietro nodded. "I'm good. I got it."

They made it to the elevator without trouble. The lift shuddered to a halt as usual but Pietro had learnt to brace himself so he had no problem keeping his balance. As they were walking down the corridor close to the medical room, however, Pietro zoomed forward, his crutches clattering to the ground, hurtling around the corner and out of sight. Wanda yelled his name and ran after him down the white hallway, skidding round the corner with Clint hard on her heels, to find Pietro sat on the floor with his back to the wall outside the room, his legs stretched out in front of him. He was breathing heavily, eyes closed, and his hand was clutched to his ribs, wincing in pain.

"What did you do that for?!" Wanda asked him, crouching down next to him and brushing his hair back with a hand.

"It w-wasn't me." He stuttered, his chest heaving.

"Pietro, you can't just run straight away. It will take time." Wanda warned, clearly not believing him.

She looked angry but Clint knew she was just worried about her brother. Clint was anxious as well. He had grown to care for the kid and he didn't want anything bad to happen to him. _Hah,_ muttered a small voice in his head. _Bit late for that._

"I told you. I d-didn't do it. I don't…" A hoarse coughing fit interrupted his protests.

Wanda rubbed his back soothingly until he regained control of his breathing and helped him up. Clint went to Pietro's other side and offered the kid his hand. Pietro took it; both gripping each other's wrists as he struggled to his feet.

"Do need help to walk?" Clint asked.

Pietro hated to admit weakness but nodded curtly and put an arm around Clint's neck, leaning on him heavily as he limped into the medical room. Pietro used the table as a support, relieving Clint of some weight. He pushed himself onto the surface, grunting with pain as Wanda massaged his chest. Clint unwrapped his arm from Pietro's neck, stretching his back.

"Sorry." Muttered Pietro.

"Its fine. I've had heavier." Clint replied.

Pietro smirked. "Getting old?"

Clint stuck out his tongue. "Not that old Kid."

"You just con- contra-tradicted yourself by calling me a kid." Pietro's accent stumbled over the words.

"You can say that again." Clint grinned.

"No I can't."

Clint chuckled and patted Pietro on the shoulder. "I'll be off then. See you later guys."

"Bye." Pietro called.

Wanda caught up to him before he left the room, tapping him on the shoulder. Clint turned around to face her and she took a deep breath before whispering something that Pietro did not catch.

Wanda forced herself to look into Clint's questioning gaze. "I really appreciate your help with him Clint. I know he's impatient and you're very understanding."

"Oh… Thank you, Wanda. He's a good person. A friend."

"Clint. He sees you as more than that." When he continued to look confused she added. "You know… I believe he thinks of you as a father."

Clint widened his eyes in surprise. "Wha… Me?"

Wanda nodded. "I think he does. And… so do I"

Clint stood there with his mouth gaping for a few moments. He blinked a couple of times and shut his mouth tightly. Wanda smiled and walked back to her brother. Clint turned to face the door slowly, looking over his shoulder to glance at the twins before leaving the room, pondering over what Wanda had told him.


	8. Missing

_A father? Pietro and Wanda think me like a father?_ Clint sat in his room, on the edge of his bed, thinking. It was night, the sky almost completely black, the moon hidden by dark storm clouds. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. It's not that he didn't like the twins. Because he did. He loved them and felt protective towards them. However, he had never imagined that Wanda and Pietro thought about him in that way; the pair usually hid their emotions well. Clint sighed and rose to his feet, pacing up and down the rectangular room. He jumped and whipped around as he heard an urgent knock and the door opened.

"Wanda?" Clint looked at her carefully. She appeared stressed and worried. "Are you alright?"

Wanda shook her head. "It's Pietro. He's gone."

"Gone?" Clint echoed in disbelief. "How can he be gone?"

Wanda was staring to look upset now. "I don't know! He was just getting a blood test and he ran off."

"What? You mean…"

"Yeah. Ran. As in… using his power running."

"He did that earlier too. He said it wasn't him." Clint remembered.

"Maybe it's not." Wanda replied, guilty that she hadn't believed her brother. "I think there might be something wrong with his power. Maybe his wounds interfered with it."

Clint frowned. "I'm guessing that could be bad."

"He could really hurt himself." Wanda agreed.

Clint nodded and headed for the door. "I'm going to go and look for him."

Wanda followed him out of the room and into the corridor. "You check the floors above; I'll take the ones below."

They split, Clint going left while Wanda turned right down the dimly lit hallway. Little did Clint know Wanda had deliberately asked him to take the floors above because that is, most likely, where her brother would be. As much as she wanted to comfort Pietro, she grudgingly admitted to herself that Clint would be better at it than she was. She just hoped the archer could find her brother before he did something stupid.

* * *

Pietro was leaning against a wall on the top floor, just under the roof. He panted heavily, sweat dripping down his face. He swept a hand over his wet hair; taking deep, shivering breaths. He took off again, not of his own accord and ended up lying on the floor near bottom of the stairs, leading to the roof. He gasped as pain stabbed his chest. Using the stair banister to scramble to his feet, he closed his eyes tightly, trying to remember the feeling when he could run when and where he wanted.

The memory hurt. It stung his mind like a wasp.

Now he had no control over his speed. He felt like he didn't have control over anything. He limped up the stairs slowly, leaning on the banister. He inhaled deeply and opened the door, leading to the roof.

The wind outside was strong and cold, blowing across the city and over the rooftop of the building. Pietro took a few deep gulping breaths of the sharp air. Limping forward a few paces, he sat down and peered over the edge of the building. The cars swarmed along the winding roads beneath him, looking like ants fleeing a crushed nest.

Pietro sighed. It was so quiet up here, 93 floors above the world. The only sound was the swirling of wind in his ears. This was all he wanted. Peace. Just a moment to himself without everyone fussing over him, crowding around him.

This was how Clint found him. He edged towards Pietro, stepping lightly so as not to startle him, for he was scared that if he did Pietro would jump off or fall unintentionally.

"I know you're there." Pietro muttered, not turning his head.

"Kid." Clint moved closer so he stood only a meter away from Pietro. "Come away from the edge."

Pietro was aware of how this would look to him. "The world goes so slowly." He mumbled. "And now I am as slow as all of you."

Clint crouched down beside him, glancing over the steep drop. "Pietro. You don't want to do this. Come back inside."

Pietro turned his gaze to the archer and Clint was shocked by the fierce fire in his light, blue eyes. "How do you know what I want? I can't run. I can't even walk properly. I'm broken. What's the point?" He finished, turning his head again to look down.

"Pietro. Listen to me. You're having what's called an existential crisis. You're wondering if life has any meaning, and I think you're beginning to believe it doesn't, but it'll pass. You'll get better." Clint reached out a hand and put it on Pietro's shoulder. "I can help you."

Pietro looked up; about to flash back a sharp retort, when something in Clint's expression made him stop. There was a strong understanding in his gaze. Clint was right. If he did this, he would never see Wanda again or Clint for that matter. That wasn't what he wanted. Clint found himself holding his breath as he waited for Pietro to say or do something. Pietro shook his head uncertainly and dragged himself away from the edge of the roof. Clint blew out a quiet breath of relief, quickly bringing it in again as Pietro began to scramble up, with difficulty. Clint half-ran up to help him, taking him under the arms and hauling him to his feet. Pietro rubbed his chest, wincing. Suddenly he disappeared. A silver blur heading towards the edge of the roof.

"NO!" Clint yelled and leapt forward.

Pietro skidded to a halt just before the drop, teetering on the edge with one foot. He lost his balance, falling forwards. Clint wrapped his arms around Pietro's waist and tugged him back to safety. They both collapsed on the rooftop, breathing heavily, their eyes wide. Clint rolled onto his front and pushed himself up.

"Are you alright?" He asked, worriedly, running over to Pietro who was lying one or two meters away.

"F-fine. I'm fine." Pietro replied, shock making him stutter.

"Sorry. Did I hurt you?" Clint questioned as he helped Pietro stand.

Pietro, standing up now, looked at him in disbelief. "You saved my life."

Clint was speechless so he just put Pietro's arm around his neck and helped him limp towards the door, fighting their way through the strong wind, and back inside the tower


	9. Questioning

"Thank god." Wanda whispered to herself as Clint and Pietro came limping into view.

She ran up to her brother, who seemed almost unconscious, his head hung as if it was too heavy to lift. Suddenly he shot forward, past Wanda. The speed whipped up her hair as he ran past. She turned quickly to see him lying on the floor, coughing weakly. She sprinted to him as he struggled onto his hands and knees, only to collapse again, rolling onto his back. Wanda crouched down beside him, brushing her brother's hair off of his sleeping face.

"Oh, Pietro." She murmured softly. "Where did you find him?" She asked as Clint came over.

"Roof." He muttered, picking Pietro up in his arms.

"On the roof?!" Wanda exclaimed, shocked. "What was he doing on the roof?" She asked as Clint headed for the door.

Clint didn't answer. The archer, gently, kicked open the door and walked into the medical room. He laid Pietro on the table, his head rolled to the side, Clint resting a hand on the younger man's forehead. Pietro's breath seemed to get caught in his throat and Clint moved his hand to Pietro's chin, turning his head up, so his neck was exposed. The ragged noise eased as Pietro's breathing began to deepen.

Wanda appeared beside him and Clint took a step back, feeling awkward. Wanda stroked the back of her finger down Pietro's cheek. Suddenly Clint found her arms around his waist, her head on his chest as they hugged. Clint put his arms around her shoulders; he rested his lips on her head, kissing her softly. They sprang apart as Pietro made a groaning noise in the back of his throat. Wanda cast a quick smile at Clint before running over to her brother. Clint slowly made his way over to stand beside her, looking down at Pietro. He blinked up at them.

"Where am I?" He asked, groaning.

"Back in the medic room." Wanda informed him.

Pietro sat up, using his arms for support and rubbed a hand to his chest. He shook his head, clearing his clouded vision. He shifted on the table, so he was sitting cross-legged in the center, facing towards Wanda and Clint. Putting his elbow on his thigh, he rested his forehead in his hand; closing his eyes tightly. He ran a hand down his face and folded his arms, fixing his unfocused gaze on the floor. Clint laid a hand on his shoulder, drawing it back quickly as Pietro shrugged it off. Out the corner of his eye, Clint saw Wanda's expression break into concern but her brother seemed not to notice his churlish attitude.

"I'll speak with him." Wanda muttered to Clint.

The archer nodded, solemnly, in understanding and left the room. Wanda turned to her brother, his unwavering stare still firmly set on the floor.

"You know… You're not being fair on him." Wanda said, sitting down on the table beside him. "Hes only trying to help."

"I know. But I don't need his help. He can't fix me can he?" Pietro growled sharply.

Wanda had to stop herself recoiling from the venom lacing his words. "He wants to help." She repeated. "You could at least try and be grateful."

Pietro suddenly sighed and relaxed. "I know. I don't suppose he told you what happened when I was on the roof."

Wanda shook her head. "He didn't have time. What did happen?" She asked, sounding curious.

"I was… I mean I was considering… Because I didn't see how I could ever get better… I-I went to the roof… and..." His voice trailed off as Wanda took in a sharp breath.

"You didn't… You actually thought about…" She gulped and whispered. "Taking your own life?"

Pietro hung his head in shame that he had even considered it. "I didn't though." He offered, feebly.

He widened his eyes as Wanda suddenly flung her arms around his neck. She cried into his shoulder. "I'm sorry." She sobbed.

"Hey. Hey, Wanda. Why are you apologising?" He asked, shocked at her unexpected gesture.

"Be-Because I didn't realise what you were going through." She murmured, her voice muffled by his shirt. "Oh, Brother. What would I do without you?"

"I was just upset; I didn't see a way for me to... Clint said I was having an exi- ex. Ugh, I can't say it. Ex- isten- tial crisis." He finally stuttered out the word. "Just a short one I think. Not even entirely sure what it means. Questioning life, I think Clint said." He remembered; Wanda was watching him with a kind of sad interest now. "And you know I'll be the first to admit how impatient I can be." Wanda smiled slightly at this and Pietro took her hand. "If you're there to guide me," He kissed the back of his sister's hand. "I know I can do it."


	10. Problems

"Ok. We think we've found out why you haven't been in control of your powers."

It was Wanda who had spoken. She entered the medical room with a doctor, who was holding a dark clipboard, flicking through some notes. Pietro, sat on the edge of the white table talking to Clint, turned his head to look at his sister.

"Okay." Pietro replied. "What's wrong with me?"

"Well…" Wanda hesitated. "You lost so much blood when you were wounded and we're pretty sure that's what the lack of control over your powers is. That and Doctor Marsel here thinks the shock of your injury tampered with it."

She cast a questioning look at Doctor Marsel beside her who nodded and muttered in a husky voice. "Yeah… I suppose we should be able to fix the blood problem fairly easily. Umm… The next part might not be so simple. You'll still have to try and work on control and confidence a bit."

"Right." Pietro sighed. "Don't suppose that will be easy. Then again nothing seems to be."

"Pietro, come on. You mustn't think like that." Wanda tried her best to stop her voice from shaking.

Her brother was doing that thing again. Acting as if the whole world was against him. It made her worry when he thought like that. A rushed movement and an exclamation of surprise from Clint made her look up. Pietro wasn't there. He was sat on the floor at the back of the room, his hand clutching his ribs, gritting his teeth, his eyes tight shut.

Wanda started towards him but Clint beat her to it, running over to Pietro to check if he was alright. Clint held out a hand to help him up, but Pietro waved him away and, leaning heavily against the wall, scrambled to his feet. He took a deep breath and limped forward a few paces, wincing. His vision clouded with darkness and he swayed, suddenly feeling light headed. Clint wrapped his arms around Pietro's chest, as he fell to one side. Clint staggered a bit at first but soon regained his balance, picking up Pietro in his arms. Pietro, feeling too dizzy to complain, allowed Clint to lift him back onto the white table. Wanda half-ran up to him, putting her hand on his heart.

"You should get some sleep." She suggested, hiding her concern.

Pietro looked as though he might protest but decided against it, nodding shortly and lying down on the table. Wanda took hold of his left hand, lifting it off the white surface. Pietro's eyelids flickered shut. Wanda felt his hand relax in hers. She laid her brother's hand over his stomach. His breathing deepened as he fell asleep almost straight away. Wanda reached forward, gently stroking back his pale hair. She sighed softly.

"He'll be okay." Clint said. "He's a fighter."

Wanda gave him a small smile before turning back and giving her brother a long loving look.  
"I know he is."


	11. Nightmares

Pietro ran along the grey cobbled street, panting heavily. Broken shells and bombs scattered the dirty ground. The word _'Stark'_ printed on every single one of them. A bomb hurtled towards the ground, whistling through the air and heading straight for the house at the end of the road. Pietro gasped and began to sprint, wishing with all his heart that he could run faster. The only thought on his mind was his sister. Wanda. She was in the house, alone. _Why did I leave her alone?!_

 ** _BOOM!_**

The bomb hit, right on top of the house. Pietro skidded to a halt, raising his arms and shielding his face as a wave of dust washed over the town.

"No! Wanda!" He yelled into the dirty air.

He ran around in vain, unable to see through the dust. Stumbling over rocks and bricks, he looked for his sister, calling her name. He tripped over a stone and landed on the dirty cobble floor. He knelt there, sobbing, tears leaving trails down his grimy face.

"P-please…" He choked through his tears. "Wanda… Come back." He whispered.

* * *

His eyes shot open, gasping in the precious air. Sitting up on the table, he realised he had been crying. He sat in the centre of the table, trying to settle himself with deep calming breaths. Clint opened the door and walked in, fumbling with an arrow. Pietro hurriedly wiped his eyes, not wanting the older man to think him weak. Clint looked up and frowned, obviously sensing something was wrong.

"Kid, are you ok? Do you need me to get Wanda?" Clint asked, trying and failing to sound indifferent.

"No… No, I'm fine." Pietro lied.

Clint walked up and sat beside him, putting the arrow on the table. "Bad dream?"

Pietro opened his mouth to argue but he could find no words to explain. In the end he simply nodded. "Yeah." He murmured, not meeting Clint's gaze.

The archer's eyes softened in sympathy. "Bad dreams after a traumatic experience. We've all been there. I know I have."

Pietro looked at him in confusion. "Why? What happened to you? If you don't mind me asking." He added quickly.

He didn't want Clint to talk about anything that made him uncomfortable or upset. He guessed, by the way that Clint clenched his jaw, that it was a very personal matter and something he didn't like to remember.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to..." Pietro began, but Clint cut him off.

"It's ok. You don't have to apologise." He told Pietro about Loki and the mind powers he had used on Clint. "He made me… kill. Good agents. Good people." Clint shut his eyes, momentarily allowing the memory to overwhelm him. "After that I didn't sleep very well." He finished, it seemed to hurt him to admit what Loki had made him do.

Pietro swallowed and shook his head. "I didn't know."

Clint nodded curtly and went back to twiddling with the slim, black arrow. Pietro watched him for a while before asking.

"How did you… Stop the nightmares?" He asked, and then began to wonder if that made sense.

Clint hesitated before speaking, choosing his words carefully. "It's different for different people. Some make mechanical suits of armour and don't get any sleep at all like Stark did. I don't recommend that. It stressed him out even more. I, personally, found long walks very stress relieving. But it depends." Clint ended with a shrug.

Pietro nodded. "Alright."

He shrank into silence once more, trying to remember what made him relaxed. He frowned, worry running through him, when he realised he couldn't think of anything. Besides running, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do that for a while. He and Clint sat in silence, both lost in their own thoughts and memories. It was nice. Nice just to sit, silently thinking, but also it was good to be with a friend.

Pietro leant, gently, against Clint, resting his head on the older man's shoulder. His breathing deepened as he began to fall asleep. Clint almost flinched in surprise but he forced himself not to move. He put the arrow back down on the table and raised a hand to brush some of Pietro's hair back from his face. Pietro didn't react. He was asleep. The sound of his breathing filled the room. Pietro shuffled in his sleep and Clint felt him slipping off of his shoulder. The archer gently moved him so Pietro was laid on his lap. He stroked Pietro's pale hair rhythmically until Wanda came into the room. She smiled at the sight of her brother asleep on Clint, like a child and his father. _How long would it be before Pietro admitted it?_ She thought to herself. _Would he ever?_


	12. Relax

"Whoa!"

Pietro woke up with a start, finding himself falling. He hit the ground, face down, with a quiet thump and groaned. Something touched his shoulder and he turned over quickly, flailing an arm at the figure above him.

"Hey! Hey. Calm down. It's just me." A gentle voice reassured him.

He scrambled up into a sitting position, leaning back against the table. Breathing as thought he had just sprinted to England and back he raised a hand running it through his hair. Wanda was crouched in front of him, watching him with an anxious expression.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

Pietro nodded but said nothing, scared that the memory of his nightmare, still fresh in his mind, would make his voice shake. He swallowed and gasped in the air, forcing himself to deepen his breath. Wanda, still looking concerned, stood and reached out a hand to help him up. Taking it, Wanda helped her brother to his feet.

"Are you hurt?" Wanda questioned; her voice soft.

"No-no. I'm ok." Pietro muttered, pushing himself up onto the table.

Wanda cast him a dubious look before jumping up next to him. She reached up, tucking some of his hair back behind his ear. He smiled briefly, face quickly falling again as he remembered the terror of his dream. Shutting his eyes tightly, he shook his head furiously, trying to scatter it. Noticing this, Wanda put her hand on his, which was laid on the table.

"Pietro?" She asked, slowly.

She sounded oddly wary, making Pietro open his eyes, looking up at his sister. She was watching him with an almost scared expression. _Is she scared of me?_ Pietro wondered, a jolt of shock running through him. _Why?_ He opened his mouth to say something but stopped, letting out a gasp as he felt a tugging at his heart. He sprinted across the room, crashing into the wall, using it to support his weight. He let out a quiet groan, collapsing onto the ground. Wanda rushed over, kneeling down beside her brother.

"Pietro? Pietro! Can you hear me?"

Pietro began to struggle up but Wanda held him back.

"Stay still for a bit." She advised.

He rolled to his side and pushed his torso off the ground slightly, straightening his arms to a right angle. Shoulders aching, he took a few deep shivering breaths before looking up at Wanda, chest heaving.

"I-I felt it." He stuttered.

Wanda blinked, confused. "Felt what?"

"My-my power… I felt it. I knew i-it would happen." He told her, trembling.

"You knew?" Wanda echoed. "You… You know what that means?" She didn't wait for a reply. "It means you can prepare for it, so you can learn to control it."

Pietro grunted in agreement and pushed himself up so he was sitting with his back against the wall. Suddenly feeling curious Wanda, silently, summoned her power. Reaching out to him with her powers, Wanda flinched at the pain in his mind but forced herself to continue through the tumble of emotions. A memory caught her attention and she began to focus on it.

"Please. Don't." Pietro muttered, clearing sensing what she was doing.

Wanda eased her mind away from his. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

Pietro turned his head away, his eyes shut. Frowning to herself, Wanda pondered what her brother had not wanted her to see. She rose to her feet as Pietro put a hand to his chest, groaning.

"I'll get you some painkillers." She offered and left the room.

Pietro, leaning heavily against the wall, scrambled up, grunting in pain. He limped over to the table, pushing against it with his arms and sitting on the edge. Sighing he thought about what Wanda had said. He could learn to control his power. _I can,_ he assured himself. _I can do it._

* * *

Wanda returned, finding Pietro sitting cross-legged on the table, scratching a pencil to a piece of paper. She tipped her head to one side, interested, and walked over to him. Her eyes lit up and she looked at Pietro wonderingly.

"Did you… Did you draw that just now?"

Pietro nodded, embarrassment making him feel warm. "Yeah."

Wanda gestured with her hands, asking if she could see. Pietro nodded again and passed it to her. Wanda examined the drawing closely. It was a night-time landscape of a lake, bordered with forests. The stars, seeming to shine off the page, were reflected perfectly in the shaded water. Wanda brushed a hand over the paper.

"Pietro. This is amazing." She praised him.

Pietro said nothing but dipped his head in acknowledgement. Wanda smiled and put the paper back down on the table.

"Helps me relax." Pietro muttered, re-shading the sky.

Wanda nodded, understanding. "That's good."

"Yeah." He agreed.

 _Maybe he won't have bad dreams anymore,_ Wanda tried to think positively. She secretly doubted that they would go away anytime soon. She smiled to herself. _At least he's trying, which is an improvement on his attitude if nothing else_.


	13. Safe With Me

Baron von strucker looked, coldly, down at the man, sprawled on the ground. He grabbed a fistful of the man's hair and forced him to kneel, pressing a gun to his head. The man hung limply in his grasp, barely enough energy left to stay conscious, his chest heaving as he fought for air. A cruel smile split across Strucker's face. He pulled the man's head back, the blood dripping from his face visible, even in the black of night. The cold air seemed to cut them, icy and strong.

"Give up yet child?" Strucker asked, his voice chilling as the wind.

"N-never." The man replied, his sharp retort ruined by his shaking voice.

"Bad decision... You will beg for death when I am finished."

A clenched fist met the man's jaw, hitting hard against his pale face. He coughed, spluttering at the salty taste of blood. Baron von strucker gripped the back of his neck, hauling him to his feet. He took his chin in a hand and forced the man to look up. Wanda appeared in the surrounding darkness, transparent like mist. She looked in the man's direction, her eyes hollow. He grunted, using the remainder of his strength to try and struggle free of Von Strucker's grasp.

"Watch." Strucker ordered, tightening his hold.

A loud, numerous, banging noise sounded in the distance, deathly familiar. Bullets streamed through the air in slow motion, moving slowly as if they were stuck in treacle. The first hit Wanda's shoulder, the next her leg, stomach, arm, throat. The man let out a yell of terror. Wanda, remarkably still standing, turned to face him, her wounds dripping with blood.

"You did this." She croaked. "You killed me."

"No!" The man shouted, desperately attempting to reach her.

He twisted his head, staring up at Strucker.

"Kill me! Take me instead!" He pleaded, sobbing.

Wanda fell to the ground, limp like a ragdoll, and disappeared, swallowed up by the darkness. Baron von strucker vanished too, leaving nothing but a cruel echoing laugh. Pietro collapsed on the floor, yelling.

"Kill me!" He shouted to the choking darkness.

* * *

"Pietro!"

"Brother! Pietro?!"

Clint and Wanda stood on either side of the table, looking down at Pietro as he thrashed on the surface, his body convulsing. He let out a loud scream, eyes shut tightly. Reaching down, Clint shook the young man's shoulder, forcefully.

"Pietro! Wake up!" He called to the sleeping man.

The painful noises coming from Pietro's mouth were hurting Clint inside. He wanted them to stop.

Suddenly Pietro shot off of the table, reaching the back left corner of the room in half a second. He slipped down the wall to the floor, breathing fast. He was crying silently, tears streaming down his pale face. Clint ran over, kneeling beside him and taking hold of Pietro in a tight hug, the younger man's head on his chest. Soothing him with quiet words of comfort, Clint held him, arms wrapped around Pietro's shoulders.

"It's ok, don't worry. You're ok. You're safe." He whispered repeatedly, into Pietro's white hair.

Pietro took several deep, shuddering breaths, his eyes shut, still sobbing uncontrollably. He was muttering something to himself under his breath, whispering in between sobs. It took Clint a few moments to understand what he was saying.

"Kill me… P-please. Kill me."

Clint blinked a few times, struggling to process the words. He didn't know what to say, not sure if he should even speak. Hugging Pietro tighter, Clint hushed him softly. Wanda came over crouching beside her brother and Clint.

She took Pietro's face in her hands, wiping away the tears with her thumb. He opened his soaked eyes, silencing himself as he met Wanda's gentle gaze. Moving her hand down to his heart, she was reassured slightly by the steady beat. He pressed closer to Clint, taking comfort from the other man's strong hold. Clint, who had been clutching Pietro close to his chest the whole time, slackened his grip, expecting Pietro to move away.

He didn't.

Pietro simply nuzzled closer to Clint's chest, inspiring a quiet exclamation of surprise from the older man. Raising a hand, Clint gently ran his fingers through Pietro's pale hair. The young man let out a long, calming breath, closing his eyes.

"Are you alright now?" Clint asked, softly.

Pietro nodded. "I'm ok." He whispered, only half truthfully.

Clint cast a questioning look at Wanda, trying to contact her with his thoughts.

 _'Should we move him back to the table?'_

Wanda, looking surprised that Clint could speak with her using his mind, shook her head.

 _'Wait until he falls asleep.'_ She replied, sending the message buzzing through Clint's head.

Clint nodded and ran his fingers, lazily, through Pietro's hair, lulling him to sleep. For once, Pietro did not attempt to fight it, allowing darkness to claim him.  
He fell asleep, peacefully this time.


	14. Beginning Control

Pietro woke with a start, gasping. A sheen of sweat covered his body, beading on his forehead and sticking his shirt to his chest. He swung his legs off the side of the table. Trying to remember what he had been dreaming about, he buried his head in his hands, running them through his wet, pale hair. He looked over his shoulder at the back left corner, a fuzzy memory of being held by Clint sprung to his mind. _What happened to me?_ He wondered, groaning.

He winced as he felt a pull at his heart and shot forwards. This time he was aware of himself running, seeing everything around him, and tried to turn to avoid hitting the wall. Gasping in surprise as he moved to the right, skimming the wall but crashing into the half-glass wall at the front of the room. He collapsed on the ground, falling to the side to face the wall, coughing, dimly aware of a doctor shouting something down the corridor. The door flew open with a loud bang and someone ran in, shoes clattering on the shined floor. Pietro felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder and he twisted his head around, finding the concerned gaze of Clint Barton.

"Hawk." He greeted weakly, a flash of his old humour returning as he dropped his head back down.

"Kid." Clint muttered back, provoking a short exhale of laughter from Pietro.

Pietro sighed and, wincing, pushed himself up with his arms, sitting with his knees up, back against the wall. He dropped his head back, resting it against the cool surface and closed his eyes.

"You ok?" Clint murmured, his voice soft.

"Yeah." Pietro whispered back, keeping his eyes shut, wishing his voice was stronger.

Without lifting his head, Pietro questioned quietly. "Do you remember when we first met each other?"

Clint looked surprised at the sudden change of topic but forced a chuckle. "How could I forget? You were so annoying taking my arrows like that."

Pietro laughed quietly and raised his head. "You weren't exactly my favourite person either."

Clint smiled briefly before a frown crossed his face and he mentioned. "The doctor sounded worried. More worried than usual I mean. Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine." Pietro murmured. Clint didn't miss the hesitation and was about to speak until Pietro interrupted him. "I think I can control it."

"You can?" Clint asked, sounding astonished.

"Pretty sure I can." Confirmed Pietro. "When it happened… I knew it was happening, I turned."

Clint sat, pondering for a while before saying. "So you know if it's going to happen and you can control where you go… But you still have to learn how to do it when you want to." Clint reminded him, almost reluctant.

Pietro smiled. "Way to rain on my parade old man." He waved a hand as Barton began to protest. "I'm kidding. I'm kidding. I know." He suddenly sighed, looking tired and a little sad. "Do you think I'll ever recover enough to go on missions with the rest of you?" He asked quietly, fixing his gaze on the floor.

"Course you will." Clint replied, sounding brisk. "You just need some time."

Pietro let his head fall back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. He began to wonder if it was him Clint was trying to convince or himself. They sat in silence for a long time, each frowning at their own thoughts.

* * *

"Pietro?"

Pietro cursed under his breath as his pencil slipped slightly on the paper and he rubbed out the thin line. He looked up to see his sister and Clint entering the room, it was Wanda who had called his name.

"Yeah?" Pietro asked, hesitantly. _What have I done now?_

Wanda reached his side, gazing down at his detailed drawing of the Iron man suit.

"Do you want to go to the party deck?" Wanda asked him, tearing her eyes away from the paper. "It must be pretty boring in here."

"Sure." Pietro answered.

She was right, he reflected as he limped after them to the lift. It was boring in there. He had spent almost every day shut in that room after his injuries. Leaning against the wall in the lift, Wanda cast him a questioning look that clearly asked _'are you okay?'_ He nodded, trying to look like he was finding it easy. He braced himself as the lift juddered to a halt, seeing Wanda take a step towards him out the corner of his eye. Wanda walked out first, Pietro following with Clint behind him. Almost everyone was in the sitting area, Steve was stood in the middle of the ring of sofas, telling a story of the recent mission on a Hydra base.

"…And I smacked that guy in the face with my shield. He staggered away only to be flung up in the air by Thor, who, when that guy fell back down, hit him away with that big hammer of his."

"Mjölnir." Thor inputted, swinging his hammer.

"Yeah. That." Steve replied absently.

"Mile neer?" Tony attempted to pronounce the name, making the others laugh.

"Close enough. One cannot expect a mortal to pronounce my mighty weapon in the correct manner." Thor teased, grinning.

Collective groans rose from the circle and Thor chuckled his merry laugh. He caught Pietro's eye and grinned a wide smile.

"The young hero returns." He greeted as Pietro, Wanda and Clint sat down on the sofa opposite him.

Pietro ducked his head in embarrassment as Natasha spoke from where she sat beside Thor. "You're very brave."

"You got some serious thrill issues kid." Tony commented from an armchair to Pietro's left.

"Come on guys. He doesn't want to talk about that." Clint protested.

"Agreed." Steve said, as he had also noticed Pietro was looking uncomfortable at all the attention. "Hey, Nat? Where did you shoot that guy again?"

As the others continued the conversation, Pietro cast Clint a grateful glance, to which Clint nodded in silent acknowledgment. Pietro listened in silence to the others as they shared stories on recent missions, unknowingly lost in his own memories.


	15. Always Running

Pietro was dreaming.

He ran through a pitch black forest, breath coming out in short gasps. The trees loomed above him, dark and skeletal, outlined against the stormy sky. Lightning flashed in the distance, momentarily illuminating the cluster of trees around him. Every time Pietro's feet hit the floor a sharp pain shot through his body but he knew he had to keep running.

He didn't know where he was going, what he was running from or to. He just needed to keep running. Always running.

A tree ahead of him was struck by lightning, the top bursting into flames. Pietro yelled in shock and veered off to the side. He reached a small cliff, reaching up and gripping the edge of the crumbling cliff with his hands. He scrambled up, heaving himself onto the top with his arms. He ran forward a few paces, stopping abruptly as he saw that the other side dropped down, steeply into a gorge. There was a wide, rushing river cutting through the ground at the bottom of the drop. Pietro turned around to face the forest again, gasping as he saw that the flames had reached him already. The scarlet tongues licked greedily at the side of the cliff that Pietro was stood on. He looked wildly to each side.

 _Gorge or forest? Water or fire?_

He had no time to decide before the fire roared, rising up to devour the cliff. Pietro leapt off the steep drop, plummeting down into the river below.

* * *

He woke with a startled gasp, his eyes flying open.

Realising at once that he wasn't in the medical room; Pietro lifted his head off the ground, looking around. He was lying on his side, in a corridor, not sure which. He closed his eyes, pain overtaking him. Although he could hear rapid footsteps approaching, he did not open his eyes.

"Maximoff?"

Pietro knew at once that it was neither Wanda nor Clint and opened his eyes, looking up at the person above him. It was Steven Rogers.

He was crouched down beside Pietro, watching him anxiously. Pietro closed his eyes, the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

"What happened? What are you doing here?" Steve asked, concern lacing his voice.

"Not a clue." Pietro murmured, pushing himself off the ground and sitting, leaning, with his back against the wall.

Steve gave him a long thoughtful look before standing and offering Pietro his hand. He took it, letting out a sharp exhale of pain as he got to his feet.

"Can you walk?" Steve questioned, looking at the younger man with a dubious expression.

"Probably." Pietro replied, sounding about as doubtful as Steve.

He limped after Steve as the soldier lead the way down the corridor, glancing back occasionally to make sure Pietro was keeping up. As they walked around the corner Wanda and Clint came running into view from the end of the long hallway. Pietro saw Wanda tug Clint's arm and they exchanged a look before sprinting over to him.

* * *

Wanda reached him first, barely slowing as she ran into him, taking hold of her brother in a tight hug. He grunted in surprise as she collided, making him stagger back a couple of steps. As Clint came up beside them Pietro glanced up at him with a smile, recovering from Wanda's unexpected hug.

His sister pulled out of the hug and took his face in her hands.

"Are you alright?" She asked, her gentle eyes glittering with worry.

Pietro nodded and took her hands away. "Just a bit lightheaded." He admitted.

Wanda could tell. Her brother was swaying on his feet, though he tried to hide it, his vision threatening to cloud. She walked close to him as they made their way back to the medical room. Clint took up a position on his other side, ready to catch him if he fell. Walking a bit behind the others, Steve followed them, wanting to make sure Pietro got back safely. Pietro, leaning slightly on Clint, limped into the room and pushed himself up onto the table.

Wanda sat herself up beside him, pressing two fingers to his neck. Pietro suddenly frowned. _Could I run now? I'm going to try._ He decided, silently trying to summon his power, for once going unnoticed by Wanda. He jumped onto the ground, provoking a sharp exclamation of surprise from Clint, and ran round the table in less than a second. He skidded to a halt beside Steve, panting heavily, the others staring at him in utter shock.

He swayed on his feet, eyelids fluttering, letting out a pained noise as Steve caught him, just before he hit the floor. Clint ran over to them, him and Steve supporting Pietro between them. Wanda slid off the table, walking beside them as they half-carried Pietro who hung limply, either exhausted or unconscious.

Steve lifted him onto the table, arranging him as comfortably as possible. Wanda heaved herself up, kneeling above her brother's head, turning his face upwards, and hovering both hands on each side. Closing her eyes, red mist gathered around her fingers, streaming into Pietro's temples. His eyes flickering slightly as the scarlet waves flowing into his head, Pietro made began to make small noises of distress, gradually growing louder as Wanda pressed her hands to his temples.

"Wanda…" Steve warned, taking a step towards her, but he was stopped by Clint who silenced him with a sharp hiss.

"It's alright. It's ok." Wanda whispered, quietly, to her whimpering brother.

She closed her eyes, reaching into his mind, looking around his memories. Flinching at the numerous nightmares drifting in his mind, Wanda felt herself beginning to cry at her brother's pain. Unable to continue through his mind, she gently eased out of Pietro's thoughts. His high-pitched whining slowly dissolved into silence as his eyes stopped moving, closing and his body relaxed.

Wanda scrambled off the table, wiping the tears from her cheeks and taking in a few deep, shuddering breaths. Clint half-ran over to her, offering his arms in a hug. Wanda wrapped her arms around his chest, quickly regaining control of her crying.

"What did you see?" He asked quietly.

She pulled out of the hug, looking up at him sadly, choking out a single word. "Pain."


	16. Block It Out

"What's that?"

"Some reporter did an article on the battle in Sokovia."

"About us?"

"Obviously."

Pietro kept his eyes shut as Clint and Wanda talked. His head hurt more than it had ever hurt before. He was about to open his eyes until Wanda asked.

"Does it have anything on Pietro?"

"Yes. He's been reported dead."

Guessing he wasn't supposed to hear this conversation, Pietro forced himself not to move, not to even twitch. There was a rustling noise as Clint passed the newspaper to Wanda. There was a long silence until Wanda spoke again, her voice quiet.

"Someone filmed it? Someone stood there... and filmed it?"

"I know." Clint replied, clearly understanding her shock and disbelief.

"That's… That's horrible."

"About a billion other people agree with you."

Pietro's mind was racing. _Someone filmed me? Dying?_ His breath caught in his throat and he let out several hoarse coughs. He heard rushed footsteps as someone ran to his side. Opening his eyes, he saw Clint looking down at him, forcing a smile as Pietro looked up at him.

"Hey Kid. You okay?" He asked.

Pietro slowly sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the table. "Yeah."

Running over from a table in the corner of the room, Wanda came and sat beside him. Pietro glanced quickly at the corner, seeing a newspaper lying on the table Wanda had come from.

* * *

Feeling a tug at his heart, he gripped the edge of the table, gasping. He slipped off the edge and fell to the ground at super speed, his back to the side of the cuboid table, knees up in front of him. Clutching both hands to his head, he shut his eyes tightly, Wanda and Clint crouching beside him, both asking if he was alright, desperation clear in their voices.

Pietro tried to block them out, focusing on his breathing until the only thing he could hear was the blood roaring in his ears. He whispered to himself under his breath, putting his head to his knees.

A hand shook his shoulder gently and he zoned his mind back to reality, raising his head and blinking open his eyes. Realising he was trembling; he took his hands away from his head. Folding his arms, he held himself around the waist, taking deep calming breaths, trying not to make it sound like he was being smothered.

"Calm down, you're ok." He heard the gentle voice of his sister as she tried to settle him.

Reassured by her soft words, Pietro felt the shock begin to ease from his mind. He drew in a deep breath, exhaling it quietly. Pushing his hands against the floor, he got to his feet, using the table for support.

"I nearly s-stopped it." He stuttered, pain making his accent heavier than usual.

Wanda looked at him, surprised. "You can control it?"

"Almost." He replied through gritted teeth, leaning on the table.

"Pietro, sit down, you're going to hurt yourself." Clint murmured, noticing that Pietro was in pain, struggling to stay on his feet.

He gave the archer a quick nod, not meeting his eyes, and heaved himself onto the table. The throbbing in his head was clouding his vision and he raised a hand, rubbing it to his temple.

"Headache?" Clint asked, watching him with concern.

"Hmm." Pietro murmured, meaning yes.

With a flick of her hand, Wanda used her powers and made a box of tablets fly over to Pietro. He took them out of the air, shaking one of the grey pills into his hand and putting it in his mouth. Swallowing it, he grimaced at the taste.

"Why does medicine have to taste so disgusting?" He asked, quietly.

Wanda smiled. "That's more like the old you." She said, sitting beside him on the table.

She lifted a hand and tucked a loose strand of her brother's pale hair behind his ear.

"You should get this cut." She murmured, inspiring a short exhale of laughter from Pietro.

"No way." He protested, smiling slightly, brushing it back, only to have it fall in his eyes again. "Ok. Maybe you're right." He laughed softly.

"Of course I am."

Clint smiled at the twins close bond.

"When can I start running again?" He asked quietly, after a moment of silence.

Wanda hesitated.

"I knew it." Pietro murmured. "I can't can I? I'll never be able to again!" His voice rose into a desperate, despairing wail and he cleared his throat to try and control it. "What. Is. The. Point?" He whispered, through gritted teeth, beginning to tremble.

Clint stiffened in shock, surprised by the kids sudden change in attitude. That's what Pietro had said on the roof when he had been considering suicide. Wanda was clearly thinking this too.

"Don't say that." She pleaded softly, fighting to keep her voice from quivering even though she was on the verge of tears. "You'll recover. I promise. You'll be training with the others before long."

Pietro gave her a long, searching look, his eyes expressionless. He suddenly reached forward and wrapped his arms around his sister's waist, hugging her gently. Surprised by the unexpected gesture, it took Wanda a few moments to respond. She rested her head on Pietro's shoulder, putting her arms around his chest.

"It'll probably be about a week before you can run again." She murmured quietly in his ear.

"I'll have recovered by then?" Pietro asked.

"Hopefully." Wanda replied.

"Okay. Ready when you are."


	17. Not Giving In

"Hey, Kid. You finished that design?"

Tony walked into the room, making Pietro look up from the paper he was drawing on. He visited regularly after he had found one of Pietro's drawings tucked in some of his blueprints. How it got there, no one knew. Tony had asked Pietro to design a few suits for him, giving him a criteria list for each of them.

"Yeah. What mark is this?"

"Hundred and twelve."

Pietro quickly scribbled **'** **M112'** at the bottom of the page. He handed the paper to Tony, who examined it closely.

"Awesome." He commented. "Thanks. I'll give you a shout if I get anymore criteria." He called over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

"Right. See you later then." Pietro murmured as Tony shut the door behind him.

Pietro sighed and slipped off the table; beginning to pace up and down, hating that he had to limp.

He was bored.

He was so _sick_ of this _stupid_ room.

He felt hot anger rise up inside and he swallowed it back. Control. That's what Wanda said. He guessed that meant emotions too. They were hard. Emotions. Hard to control, to read.

A sharp pain shot through his legs and chest but he kept pacing, trying to ignore it. The door opened and he looked up, halting.

"What're you doing?"

Clint looked at him questioningly and Pietro shrugged. "I'm bored."

"You should rest. It'll help you recover quicker." Clint suggested.

Pietro let out a frustrated breath and continued with his pacing. "I've been resting for ages. For almost three weeks I've been stuck in this room."

"Well, yeah." Clint agreed and then hesitantly added. "But you were unconscious for about the first week."

Pietro clenched his jaw. He didn't want to think about it.

His chest tightened and he in haled sharply, feeling a tugging at his heart. Unprepared, he shot forwards, colliding with the back wall of the room. He leant against the wall with his forearm, fighting to stay on his feet.

"Damn it." He whispered under his breath.

"Are you okay?" Clint asked worriedly, running over.

"Wasn't ready for that." He admitted, twisting round so his back was to the wall.

"Didn't see it coming?" Clint said, smiling.

Pietro let out a small chuckle, closing his eyes. "Suppose it was my turn wasn't it?"

"Oh, we're taking in turns now?" Clint asked, before frowning. "Seriously though, are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Pietro assured him, pushing off against the wall and limping over to the table, testing each leg carefully.

He heaved himself back onto the table. _I_ _ **am**_ _going to control it next time,_ he told himself sternly. He shut his eyes, blinking a few times as his vision blurred a little. Clint stood beside him.

"You should go to sleep." Clint suggested. "You look exhausted."

Pietro let out a small, sarcastic, tut. "Who are you, my dad?"

Pietro paused, eyes widening slightly, suddenly realising what he had said. He opened his mouth to explain but he found no words and shut it again, looking away. Rubbing a hand at the base of his neck, he dared to cast a quick glance up at Clint. The Archer was trying to supress a smile but he couldn't extinguish the bright laughter from his eyes. Pietro groaned in his mind, trying to find something to say.

"Rest." Clint said, his voice more commanding but still gentle.

"Okay." Pietro murmured, swinging his legs up onto the table and lying down with his back to Clint.

 _Why did I have to make that so awkward?_ Pietro asked himself, shutting his eyes, embarrassment flooding him. He was just scattering the thoughts from his mind when he felt a hand on his shoulder, almost making him flinch in surprise. Deepening his breathing gradually, he pretended to be asleep. Then he smiled to himself slightly, almost laughing aloud. _Why am I even trying to deny it? Clint_ _ **is**_ _like a father to me._

* * *

The Quinjet flew towards Pietro; bullets fired from it slowly advancing on him.

 _It's a dream_. He told himself, furious of his fear. _It's just a dream._

He didn't try to run, just closed his eyes and waited. The noise was dreadful. The bullets crashing to the ground, getting louder and louder until the sound threatened to deafen him.

Pain ripped through his body. Pietro choked, drowning on his own blood and dark scarlet dripped from his mouth. The smell of it, the taste of it clogged his senses. It hurt. He wanted it to stop.

 _Just kill me already_.

He gasped in a long, shivering breath before falling to ground. The dusty floor seemed to rip beneath him, sending him plunging into never-ending darkness.

* * *

A noise sounded behind Clint and he spun around on his chair to see Pietro writhing on the ground. Clint leapt up and ran over to him, crouching down beside the younger man. He had to duck to avoid a flailing hand as Pietro thrashed and twitched. Clint took hold of his shoulders, limiting his struggles, raising his voice over the other man's screams.

"Pietro! Kid, wake up!" He shouted, shaking Pietro desperately.

Continuing to struggle, Pietro began to hit Clint everywhere he could reach. His movements were so quick and powerful, Clint had to leap away, feeling bruised. Pietro sat up, his chest heaving as he gasped in the air.

"Just let me die. It hurts, I don't like it." He whispered repeatedly under his breath, not loud enough to hear, shuffling into a sitting position with his back to the side of the table.

Pietro dropped his head onto his knees, hiding his face, trying in vain to stop the tears cascading down his cheeks. Clint scrambled over to him, crouching down on his right. Pietro felt arms wrap around his shoulders and he allowed himself to be pulled into a gentle hug. Clint took hold of his head, pulling it close to his chest. They just sat there in silence for several minutes, Pietro trying to regain control of his, seemingly unstoppable, crying.

Clint didn't like it when he cried.

He didn't like the feeling that grasped his chest when he cried.

He couldn't help feeling relived when Pietro finally stopped.

"Sorry." Pietro murmured, sitting up and wiping his eyes with the back of his hands.

"For what?" Clint asked softly.

"Getting tears on your shirt." Pietro replied.

He started to laugh quietly but soon found himself crying again and closed his eyes. Turning his head away and putting a hand up to cover his mouth, he tried to withhold the tears. Clint put a hand on his shoulder, attempting to comfort him without words. Lifting his head after a few moments, Pietro opened his eyes and took his hand away, brushing the tears from his cheeks.

"Sorry." He repeated; his voice slightly stronger.

Clint smiled. "Stop apologising."

Pietro let out a breath of laughter and apologised once more. "Sorry."

He suddenly winced, gasping, and put a hand to his heart.  
 _Control it_ , he ordered himself and clenched his fists, bracing.  
His head thrashed to each side at super speed and, when it ended, Pietro collapsed to the side, his breathing fast and irregular. He shut his eyes. Pain rushed through his body, increasing until he felt sure he had to scream.

Someone turned him over gently, so he was lying on his back, making him let out a distressed noise. Half blinking open his unfocused eyes, Pietro saw the blurred faces of Wanda and Clint looking down at him. He moved his head slightly, pressing it hard against the floor and squeezing his eyes shut as pain shot up his body again. He felt unconsciousness creeping into his mind and, for once, willed it to come.

"Pietro, no. Don't give in." Wanda whispered, laying her hand on his heart, causing him to open his eyes a fraction.

Reaching up, Pietro put his hand on hers and curled his fingers beneath her palm. "It hurts." He whispered, sounding weaker than he ever had before.

"I know." Wanda's hushed voice cracked with sadness and she swallowed. "I know."

"Why… Did that hurt s-so much?" He murmured softly.

Wanda hesitated, finding she was unable to explain. Seeming to understand, Pietro sighed, closing his eyes.

"Tell me later." He whispered quietly.

"Hang on, you need to stay awake." Wanda said, stroking his hair.

"No… Please. I c-can't take any more… pain." Pietro breathed the words, barely loud enough to hear.

Wanda swallowed back a sob, intertwining her fingers with his. He tried to squeeze her hand but he didn't have the strength. She turned her gaze to his face, realising that he had slipped into unconsciousness.


	18. Strength Beyond Power

"Have you figured it out yet?"

"Other than it has to get worse before it gets better?" Wanda replied, as she entered the room.

She looked at Clint, who was sat on the edge of the table, on Pietro's left, and smiled sadly. "He's recovering, nearly there, but it's going to hurt."

Clint sighed. "That's typical, isn't it?"

As if in response, Pietro took in a long, shuddering gasp, his hand falling from where it lay on his stomach. Clint turned to look at him as Pietro's fingers brushed his hand. The archer forced a smile as Pietro blinked open his eyes, resting his cloudy gaze on Clint. Pietro weakly returned his smile before rolling onto his side and beginning to sit up.

"Hey, careful." Clint warned, putting his hand on the younger man's shoulder trying to push him back down again.

Pietro waved him off, swinging his legs off the side of the table and propping himself up, straightening his arms, pushing against the table. He shut his eyes, leaning forward slightly and putting a hand to his forehead, not for long but enough to make Clint put a hand on Pietro's knee, looking at him worriedly.

"Are you…" He broke off as Pietro interrupted him.

"I'm okay, just a little bit dizzy."

Pietro saw the dubious look Clint gave him but said nothing, taking his hand away from his forehead. Wanda came over and sat on Pietro's left, taking his jaw in her hand and gently turning his face towards her. He offered her a half smile and the corner of her mouth twitched, face quickly falling again as Pietro winced, rubbing a hand to his chest, running his fingers over a bullet wound close to his heart.

"What's wrong?" Wanda asked, quietly.

Pietro shook his head. "Nothing." He lied, a familiar tugging sensation in his heart. "I'm fine."

"Don't lie to me Brother." Wanda ordered getting to her feet, fear making her short tempered. "I know you're in pain."

"Then why ask what's wrong?" Pietro murmured. "If you know, then…"

He broke off as he felt his power rise inside him. Gripping the edge of the table, he fought to control it, panting heavily and then let out a loud yell of anguish, clutching a hand to his heart.

Clint leapt up as Wanda forced Pietro onto his back, making him lie on the table. He shut his eyes tightly, starting to tremble, noisily heaving in the air. Wanda stroked his hair, desperately trying to comfort him as he let out another yell, clenching his fists. As Pietro gritted his teeth, Clint saw he was finding it hard to control his screams of pain.

His eyes suddenly flew open; iris' glowing with bright, blue fire and he gasped in a long breath, mouth gaping.  
Exhaling it softly, blue mist rose from his lips, rising like steam into the air and disappearing. His clenched hands relaxed, his fingers uncurling, head falling to the side. The glow in his eyes extinguished and they flickered shut.

Clint blinked in astonishment. "What was that?"

Wanda laid a hand on her brother's chest; his heart rate was unusually fast.

"That was his power." She replied, quietly, sounding as shocked as Clint. "I think he's controlled it."

Clint reached forward, gently stroking Pietro's pale hair from his equally pale face. The faint rise and fall of his chest worried Clint, along with the way he struggled breath through his parted mouth.  
 _Stay with us kid._

* * *

Pietro let out a quiet moan, making Clint's head shoot up.  
It had been an entire day since Pietro had fallen unconscious after finally controlling his power. Clint leapt up from his chair, whipping around and racing over to Pietro.

The young man moved his head slightly, turning his face upwards and coughed weakly. A drop of blood trickled slowly down from the left corner of his mouth and dripped from his jaw onto his neck. Clint took Pietro's chin in his hand, wiping away the blood with his thumb. Pietro stirred again, drowsily half-blinking open his eyes. He swallowed, wincing and narrowed his eyes to see who stood above him.

"Clint?"

The weakness of his whisper turned Clint's blood to ice.  
"Hey Kid."  
He was amazed at the steadiness in his own voice.

Pietro's weak smile was ruined by a grimace and a noise of pain, making Clint's heart twist in sympathy. Pietro pressed the back of his head against the table, his body tensing. Clint laid a hand on Pietro's head, running his fingers through his hair comfortingly.

"Wha-What happened?" He murmured, almost too quiet to hear.

"You don't know?" Clint questioned, eyes softening.

Pietro blinked a few times, frowning a little. "I know that look. Th-That's pity, right?" When Clint did not reply he continued with a slight sigh. "Don't... Clint, don't feel sorry for me. It was my…"  
He paused, gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes as his body tensed.  
"My decision." He finished, painfully, forcing himself to re-open his eyes.

Clint had to bite his lip to stop himself from screaming out ' _No it was my fault!'_

"You don't deserve to go through this." Clint whispered, shaking his head. "You don't deserve it."

"Maybe I… do." He said the words slowly, pausing occasionally to gasp in the air. "Maybe this is m-my… Punishment, for listening to… Ul-Ultron that one time."

The sentence left him panting, trembling, exhausted from the effort of speaking. Pietro rolled onto his side, facing Clint, closing his eyes tightly as pain swept through his chest. A small cry of anguish escaped his lips and Clint, briefly, laid a hand on his cheek before brushing the hair from his face, whispering a few comforting words.

It broke his heart to see Pietro in so much pain.

To hear him talk about needing to be punished for what he had done in the past.

To see him so hurt and helpless.

"This isn't a punishment." Clint assured him, quietly. "Pietro, look at me."

The younger man, who had stopped trembling, obeyed, opening his eyes and blinking slowly, fixing his gaze on Clint.

"Don't blame yourself for what happened in the past. You didn't know what Ultron had planned." Clint reminded him, having heard the information from Wanda. "None of this is because of bad actions. It's because you were brave. Uncommonly and outstandingly brave."

"But I wasn't brave." Pietro muttered and then dropped his voice to an almost silent whisper. "I was… I _am_ … scared."

"Kid, being brave isn't about not being scared." Clint corrected him gently. "Bravery is being scared and still not running away."


	19. The Hydra Base

Pietro turned around sharply as a noise echoed in his ears.

Nothing.

The world was silent again, dark. Pietro began to grow afraid.  
 _Am I alone?  
Is there no way out of this place?_

A slow, cruel laugh sounded from somewhere in the black. Pietro twisted round again; certain the noise came from behind him. He narrowed his eyes into the darkness.

Hot breath blew on the back of his neck and he whipped round, panting. He swallowed back a cry, fear threatening to overwhelm him. Warm tears prickled his eyes and he blinked furiously, biting his lower lip.

Something swept his feet from beneath him and he fell to the ground, quickly scrambling up again, taking in fast shuddering breaths. He looked wildly to each side, attempting to catch a glimpse of his attacker. He felt a sharp prod on his arm and spun to the side.

* * *

Pietro woke with a start, his eyes flying open, gasping in a short breath.

He quickly began to struggle up but was immediately detained by someone to his right and was pushed back down. Pressing his head against the table, his body tensed, shutting his eyes and shivering slightly. He forced himself to deepen his breathing, relaxing visibly.

The pressure lifted from his shoulder as the person on his right removed their hand.

"Are you okay?"

Pietro opened his eyes, flicking them to Steve, who was stood beside him. "I-I'm fine... What…" He broke off as his body became racked with a coughing fit. "What are you doing here?" He finished, voice hoarse.

"I heard you screaming." Steve explained, his eyes sympathetic.

Pietro blinked slowly, looking away, suddenly unable to meet Steve's gaze. Seeming to understand, Steve let out an almost silent sigh.

"Nightmares are nothing to be ashamed of Pietro." He murmured.

His only response from the younger man was a clenched jaw.

Pietro rolled to his side slightly and propped his torso up with an arm. He looked around the room. Nothing had changed.  
 _Then why does something feel different?_

He swung his legs off the side of the table, frowning.

"What is it?" Steve asked, seeing his expression.

"I'm not sure." Pietro murmured. "Somethings different."

"Is because Wanda isn't here?"

Pietro looked up at Steve. "She isn't?"

Steve shook his head. "She and the others went on a mission about one day ago, to take down a Hydra base somewhere in Alberta. That's in Canada by the way." He added.

"Then, why didn't you go?" Pietro questioned, immediately regretting it as he saw Steve's fists clench.

"I was injured in the last attack." Steve admitted, his hand wandered subconsciously towards his right leg. "Fury said it would be better if I stayed here."

 _I'm glad you did_ , Pietro thought but said nothing, simply giving Steve a small nod. A long silence stretched out, growing into minutes.

"When will they be back?" Pietro eventually asked, after about an hour.

Steve shook his head. "I'm not sure. The base isn't as big as… other ones we've taken. They should be back some time soon."

Pietro nodded again. "Alright."

As if on command, a quiet ringing noise sounded from Steve's pocket and he reached down, taking out his phone. He walked a few paces away from Pietro before answering the call.

"Stark?"

Pietro waited as Steve spoke into the phone, his voice to quiet to hear.

* * *

"Tony, are you there?"

"Hey Rogers." The reply came, almost making Steve gasp in relief.

"Is everyone okay?" He asked, flashing a quick glance at Pietro.

"Not really."

Steve expression dropped into dismay as Tony continued. "Almost all of us are injured. There were too many of them, the base might not have looked like much on the surface but underneath…" Tony broke off to sigh. "Let's say it was vast. We had to abort the mission."

"Any life threatening injuries?" Questioned Steve, concern rising as Tony hesitated.

"I don't think anyone's going to die." Tony replied.

"But?" Steve almost interrupted him, sensing he wasn't telling the whole truth.

"Can Pietro hear this conversation?" Tony lowered his voice.

"No. Why? Is it Wanda?" Steve asked. "Is she hurt?"

"No, it's Barton." Tony corrected him. "He's been shot in the neck."

A shocked silence met his words, during which Steve could hear the soft whirring of the jet on Tony's end of the line and the quiet murmurings of the other avengers.

"Got to go." Tony said. "We'll be back at the tower in a few hours."

"Okay." Steve replied, finding his voice again. "I'll be waiting for you on the roof."

"Right. Bye."

Tony hung up and Steve lowered his phone. He quickly pocketed it and turned back to Pietro. The younger man was looking at him with concern.

"Was that the others? Are they alright?" He questioned, sliding off the table.

"The mission didn't go so well." Steve answered, walking over to him. "They're on their way back now."

"And is everyone alright?" Pietro repeated the same question Steve had asked Tony and when he hesitated Pietro frowned. "Steve? Are they hurt?"

Steve decided not to lie, forcing himself to meet Pietro's questioning, worried gaze.  
"Yes."

* * *

"Everyone fall back! There are too many!"

Clint heard Tony's yell above the screeching and shouts of battle. They were fighting on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a lake and a small town. The base held more Hydra agents than expected and the avengers had not been prepared for such a large attack. He sent another couple of arrows from his bow before looking around for the others. He saw Thor limping back to the Quinjet, supporting Natasha. The Asgardian fought off the Hydra agents, swatting them aside with Mjölnir.  
Clint yelled to Wanda who was still fighting.

"Wanda, get back to the jet!"

The woman obeyed immediately, forcing her way through the swarm of agents using her power. Clint ran after her as she disappeared after Natasha and Thor into the Quinjet. He kicked away an Agent and was about to get inside the jet when a gunshot sounded and sharp pain stabbed his neck.

He raised a hand to the right side on his neck and staggered into the jet. Managing to get inside, he heaved the door shut before dropping his bow and collapsing on the ground, sitting with his back to the wall, beside the door. His dropped his head back, resting it against the wall and shutting his eyes as pain swept over him. The jet quickly rose into the air, engines roaring as it flew away from the yells and shootings of the Hydra agents as they fired upon the jet.

After a moment, the explosions stopped and dissolved into silence. Clint felt a hand on his arm and opened his eyes, finding Tony crouched beside him; his suit was sat on a bench at the side of the jet.

"Are you hurt?"

Clint momentarily lifted his hand off the side of his neck, showing Tony the bullet wound. Blood flowed down his chest from the exposed injury and Clint lowered his hand to prevent it from escaping. Tony hissed slightly at the sight of it and stood up, reappearing a moment later. He took Clint's hand away from the wound and pressed a cloth to the source of the bleeding.

"Wanda." Tony called after a while. "Can you take over here please? I need to tell Cap what happened."

Wanda quickly finished bandaging her own wound, on her arm, and walked over, looking slightly confused. She took Tony's place, holding the cloth to Clint's neck.

Tony went to the pilot seat and sat down, switching the jet to manual and pressing his finger on a band around his wrist, which sent a call through to Steve's phone. He put a finger to his earpiece checking that it was still in and waited for Steve to pick up.

Clint lifted his head off the wall and looked up at Wanda.

Fresh cuts covered her dirty face, one on her forehead, above her left eye still bleeding. She took the cloth away for a second to inspect his wound. Shuddering, she realised the bullet had gone all the way through his neck. He closed his eyes as she pressed the cloth down again, putting his head back against the wall. It fell slightly to the right, making Wanda shift her eyes to his face.

 _Please say he's not dead._

"Clint?"

He opened his eyes at the sound of her voice, flicking his gaze to her without moving his head. Wanda let out a quiet breath of relief and raised her hand, laying in on his jaw and turning his face towards her.

"Come on." She murmured quietly. "Don't give up on me."


	20. Exhaustion

Steve shivered.

He was stood on the rooftop of the Avengers tower, waiting, impatiently, for the others to return. The wind was strong and cold at this height and the sky was grey and cloudy. Beside him stood Pietro, who had insisted on coming even though Steve requested that he stay inside.

He rubbed a hand to the wound on his thigh, near the top of his leg. It didn't hurt as much now.

 _I could have fought_ , he told himself.

He narrowed his eyes against the wind, straightening up as he spotted the jet. Feeling Pietro stiffen beside him, Steve cast him a quick glance before turning back to look at the small black dot on the horizon.

It reached the tower quickly and Steve and Pietro took a couple of steps back as it landed. Pietro squinted as it whipped up it hair, brushing loose strands from his face as the engines died down.

The rest of the team walked out, the stronger supporting the weaker.

Steve's breath caught in his throat as he saw them.

Natasha was leaning on Thor, both of them limping and Natasha held her hand to the left of her stomach.  
Wanda came next, her right arm bandaged above her elbow, blood dripping from a cut on her forehead.  
Last, Tony and Clint. Tony, appearing to be uninjured, was supporting the wounded man, who was remarkably still conscious. One of Clint's arms was around Tony's shoulders, while the other dangled limply at his side, his head lolling forwards. The archer's neck had been wrapped with a bandage; dark, scarlet blood had soaked through on the right.

Steve ran over to them, making sure Natasha was alright before going to help Clint. He lifted the man's other arm over his head, slinging it around his neck and relieving Tony of some weight. Pietro walked to Wanda, hugging her gently, letting her lean on him as they all limped inside.

* * *

Tony kicked open the door to a medical room. The room, larger than most of the others, had four beds, all facing the front wall and the door. Cabinets and desks bordered the left and right walls. Tony limped in and eased Clint onto a bed near the left side. As soon as he had dropped the archer onto the bed, Tony's vision clouded and he swayed on his feet, blinking to clear it as the room spun around him.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked, switching his gaze from Clint to Tony.

"Yeah, I-I just…" Tony didn't get to finish his sentence, voice trailing off and he staggered backwards, falling on the bed next to Clint's.

Steve rushed over to him, checking he was breathing properly before lifting his legs up onto the bed and arranging him as comfortably as possible, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed.

Thor came in with Nat, the woman sitting on the bed beside Tony's, holding her hand to her left side, wincing. They were quickly followed by Wanda and Pietro, who went over to sit in two chairs on the left of the room. Pietro pressed a cloth to his sister's forehead, above her eye, wiping away the blood.

"Is he okay?" Thor questioned in his deep voice, gesturing to Tony.

"I think he fainted from exhaustion." Steve replied, gently lifting one of Tony's eyelids, seeing that his eyes had rolled back, before closing it again.

"I'm not surprised." Thor murmured, dropping his hammer on the floor. "There were so many more Hydra agents than we expected. We were completely unprepared."

"You can say that again." Clint muttered from behind Steve, struggling to stay conscious.

Wanda made a small noise of agreement, looking up at Clint worriedly. "We would have stood a much better chance if you, Pietro and Bruce were there." She said, her words directed at Steve.

"Bruce couldn't have picked a worse time to visit London." Natasha added. "He should be here with us, not chasing up some lead on Gamma radiation."

An uncomfortable silence followed her words.

"Are you not injured Thor?" Steve decided to break it.

"No, I'm fine." Thor replied, shaking his head. "I guess I got lucky."

His last words were almost interrupted by a weak coughing fit from Tony. Steve turned to look at him and saw that he was stirring, beginning to recover from his short fainting spell. Blinking open his eyes, Tony let out a quiet groan and lifted his head, frowning as he looked around. Steve opened his mouth, about to speak, but stopped himself as Tony rolled onto his side, pushing his torso off the bed slightly.

"What just…" Tony started, confused, running his fingers through his hair. "What happened?"

"You passed out." Steve explained.

"I did what?!" Tony sounded shocked, eyes widening, sitting bolt upright on the bed. "You're kidding!"

"I'm not." Replied Steve, shaking his head.

"First off that's stupid. Who the heck invented that? Secondly we got to find a way to destroy that Hydra base." He began to try and get off the bed but was pushed back down by Steve. "Hey! Wha…?" He started to protest.

"First off, you fainted of exhaustion. Secondly, it can wait and you all need to rest… Like right now." Steve interrupted his arguments. "And, yes, that's an order."

Pietro suddenly frowned and stood up, walking over to Clint, limping a little. The older man's eyes were closed and he remained motionless as Pietro put two fingers on the uninjured side of his neck to check his pulse. Leaning down, he put his ear close to Clint's slightly parted mouth.

"Is he okay?" Natasha asked as Pietro straightened up.

He turned his eyes to her, looking concerned. "How are we classing 'okay' here?"

"Not dead."

"Then, yes. He's okay." Pietro replied. "Unconscious but not dead."

* * *

"Tony. Lie down, now. You're going to hurt yourself."

"He's right stark." Thor inputted, nodding to Steve in agreement. "The battle was hard on everyone."

Steve pushed Tony down as he tried to sit up again. "I will literally get some chloroform in here if you don't lie still."

"Hang on, you've got chloroform?" Tony asked, halting in his struggles.

"Yes, and I'll use it if you continue with this."

Steve put his hand on Tony's chest, just under his collarbone, holding him down. To Steve's astonishment, Tony took in a sharp breath, gritting his teeth. He pressed his head down against the bed, tensing and shutting his eyes tightly as Steve took his hand away.

Steve looked at his hand. It was covered with blood.

 _Why didn't I notice that?_ Steve asked himself, staring in dismay at Tony.

He started to push down Tony's, black, shirt collar, pausing as he found a hand gripped around his wrist. Carefully, he used his other hand to ease Tony's fingers away from his arm and continued, finding a bullet wound on the other man's chest, oozing with dark, red liquid.

Steve inhaled deeply, letting it out as a sigh. "You should've said something."

Tony didn't reply, sitting up to take off his shirt before lying back down and pressing the fabric to his wound. It hurt but he forced himself not to flinch. Closing his eyes, he took in a long breath and blew it out slowly, trying to control the pain.

He felt something touch his arm, making him jump and open his eyes. Steve pulled his hand away from the wound, pressing a clean cloth down in its place. Dropping his shirt down on the floor, Tony shut his eyes again, grudgingly admitting to himself that Steve was right. He needed to rest. Sleep came easily, his head dropping to the side slightly as darkness swept over him.


	21. Four Millimetres

Clint blinked open his eyes.

He let out a quiet groan at the pain in his neck and moved his head to the side. On the bed beside him lay Tony; Steve sat on the edge of his bed, his back to Clint. He seemed to be bandaging a wound on Tony's chest, under his shoulder. Beyond them, Nat was lying on another bed, shuffling in her sleep occasionally.

Clint rolled his head to the other side, finding Pietro and Wanda slumped in two chairs on his left. They were also both asleep, Wanda's head resting on her brother's shoulder. Pietro's fingers twitched and he let out a small whimper before falling once more into silence.

Clint shuffled his arms up, pushing himself into a sitting position, leaning back against the wall at the head of his bed. Steve twisted round at the noise and smiled at Clint.

"You okay Hawk?"

Clint exhaled, shortly, with amusement and gave a small nod. "I'm okay."

He raised a hand to his neck, brushing his fingers over the bandaged injury. Wincing, he took in a sharp breath and dropped his head back against the wall. A small cry of anguish sounded from his left and Clint turned his face to the side.

Tony was twitching and writhing on the bed beside him. He rolled to each side with short thrashing movements, his breathing fast and irregular.

Steve reached out a hand, laying it on the sleeping man's uninjured shoulder and shook him gently.

As Tony continued to twist around on the bed, letting out quiet noises of distress, Steve quietly called his name.

"Stark." He whispered. "Tony, wake up."

Clint frowned worriedly.  
He used to have nightmares almost every night and wouldn't wish that kind of pain on even his most hated enemy.

Tony cried out, thrashing and trembling, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. Steve lightly slapped the side of his face a couple of times. His eyes flew open and he sat up quickly, chest heaving as he gasped in the air. Looking around wildly, his eyes wide, Tony seemed to momentarily forget where he was.

"Tony, calm down. You're in the tower, you're safe." Steve assured him, putting a hand on his knee.

Tony's face fell into realisation as he met Steve's calming gaze. Moving to sit cross-legged on the bed, he closed his eyes, letting out a sigh and hanging his head, gradually deepening his breathing. He rested his forehead in his hand, exhaling a long, slow breath.

"What were you dreaming about?" Steve asked quietly.

Tony shook his head, saying nothing. Seeming to understand, Steve did not press on the matter, looking to Clint. Without the knowledge of Tony, the two shared a concerned glance.

This was so unlike him… Or maybe this was exactly like him.

Clint frowned, realising he didn't know much about his 'friends'.

Steve stood up, wanting to comfort Tony but unsure of how to. He turned and walked to Clint, pulling the bandage down slightly and inspecting the injury on his neck. Only just stopping himself from gasping aloud, he saw that if the bullet had hit about four more millimetres to Clint's left then he would have died instantly.

Clint swallowed and closed his eyes, beginning to cough, making blood bubble at his mouth and at the wound. Steve pressed the bandage back against the bleeding and Clint swallowed again, painfully, wincing at the taste of blood. Lifting a hand to his mouth, Clint opened his eyes and wiped some of the blood from his lips.

Suddenly feeling weak, he slid down the wall and fell to the right side, his body limp. His head hung off the edge of the bed, eyelids flickering, mouth parted as he took in deep, shivering breaths.

Someone murmured his name and he raised his head, expecting to find Steve but instead blinking up into the concerned, blue eyes of Pietro.

Soon he began to tremble with the effort of keeping his head up and dropped it back down again with a quiet gasp. Pietro caught his head before it fell, carefully avoiding the wound.

Pietro sat on the edge of the bed, lifting Clint's shoulders and head onto his lap. He hesitantly stroked his fingers through Clint's hair and the archer shut his eyes. A dull pain still throbbed in his chest but Pietro tried to ignore it.

It just wasn't that important anymore.

Clint could have died.

Pietro swallowed back his sadness as Clint moved his head slightly, letting out a quiet moan. Looking up, Pietro saw Steve stood in front of him, his worried expression fixed on Clint.

"Is he okay?" Steve murmured quietly, kneeling down on the floor beside the bed and putting a hand on Clint's chest to feel his heart beat.

"I think so." Pietro replied, sounding unsure, turning his eyes back to the archer.

Steve took his hand away. "Heart beats steady." He reported, before adding. "He's lucky. If the bullet hit about four more millimetres to the left he would have died."

Pietro stroked his fingers lightly to the bandaged wound. It hurt to imagine Clint dying; he didn't like the feeling that gripped his heart at the thought of it.

Clint shuffled a little under his touch and flickered open his eyes. His cloudy gaze found Pietro and the corner of his mouth rose in the beginnings of a weak smile. Even though it felt like someone was repeatedly jabbing ice into his heart, Pietro forced himself to smile in return.

"Lie still." Pietro ordered gently, detaining Clint as he tried to get up.

The archer dropped his head back on Pietro's thigh, closing his eyes, coughing slightly yet keeping his mouth shut.

Someone stirred behind him. Looking over his shoulder, Pietro saw Natasha slowly pushing herself up, so she was sitting on the edge of her bed, on the bed next to Tony's, who was still sitting with his head hanging, cross-legged and with his eyes shut tightly.

Steve sprang to his feet and went over to Nat, standing beside her bed and asking, quietly, if she was feeling alright. Nodding in response, she looked around the room, catching sight of Tony and Clint and frowning worriedly.

"Are they okay?" She whispered to Steve, too quietly for anyone but him to hear.

"I think they will be." Steve replied.

"But at the moment?"

Steve hesitated for a long moment, looking at Tony and Clint, who were both struggling with their own problems, before finally whispering.  
"I'm not so sure."


	22. I'll Be Here

"You alright?"

Tony opened his eyes and raised his head to the sound of the voice.

Steve was stood to his left, in between his and Natasha's bed.  
 _How long have I been here?_  
It felt like he had been sitting there for ages.

"Tony, are you alright?" Steve repeated, growing increasingly anxious.

Tony nodded but said nothing, making Steve even more worried and curious as to what he had been dreaming about.  
 _Would he tell me? Does know I care?_

"Talking about it might help." Steve murmured quietly.

Tony's eyes narrowed and his gaze hardened into a glare. "I'm not a child Steve. I don't need your help."

Steve almost flinched at the venom lacing his words and the hostility in his cold eyes, but forced himself not to move.

"Whether you need help or not, I'm offering it to you and…" He paused trying to find words that didn't make him sound weird. "I'll always be here, if you… need someone to talk to."

Turning away, he began to walk towards the door, feeling upset at Tony's solitary personality.

Tony frowned slightly and blinked in astonishment and confusion.  
 _What... Hang on, what? 'I'll always be here for you?'… That's what he had said._

Steve had almost reached the door, not even entirely certain where he was going, when a quiet voice sounded behind him.

"Wait."

He turned around to see Tony, standing about a metre away from him. The other man seemed to be unable to meet his gaze at first, but finally looked up, straight into Steve's eyes.

"I'm sorry."

Steve half-opened his mouth to reply yet found himself too busy trying process the words. He was dying to hug Tony but was absolutely sure he would recoil. Simply, he just stood there, looking a little bit stupid as he searched for what to do. Tony was about to turn away, he could tell.  
 _He's my friend for gosh sakes… And he's been shot._

Tony froze.

Steve had just walked forward and drew him into a hug.

Captain America was hugging him.

 _What the heck do I do?_ He asked himself, before deleting the question from his mind.

He returned the hug, putting his hands on Steve's back and grasping him gently.  
It was surprisingly comforting.  
Well, they were friends after all. Maybe even best friends?

Tony's eyesight blurred suddenly and his legs buckled.

"Whoa, careful."

He let out a gasp as Steve caught him around the stomach, holding him up. Legs trembling, he tried to stand again, managing to get to his feet. Steve still hovered his hands beside the other man's shoulders, ready to steady him if he stumbled. Which he did.

After just one step, Tony had fallen, again to be caught by Steve, who picked him up in his strong arms. Tony was going to protest, but found that he didn't have the strength and allowed his limbs to go limp, head lolling back.

Steve carried him over to the bed, placing a hand on the back of his head, and put him on it carefully, gently laying his head down. As it rolled to the side, Steve noticed that he was asleep, his shallow breathing only just audible.

He reached out a hand hesitantly and his fingers wandered lightly over the covered wound, before putting his hand on Tony's chest to feel his heart beat. Steve flashed a worried glance to Natasha, who had her eyes fixed on him and Tony.

She stood up, and walked over to Tony's bed, limping only slightly. Sitting on the edge, she brushed back some of Tony's scruffy, dark hair with her hand. At her touch, he shuffled slightly, letting out a short, quiet whimper, looking unusually weak and helpless.

"Don't you dare give up." Steve whispered under his breath, too quiet for Natasha to hear. "Don't you dare."

* * *

Pietro looked over his shoulder at Steve and Natasha, sitting on Tony's bed beside Clint's. Tony looked really unwell, tired and pale; it was probably due to the fact that he didn't let anyone know about his injury until about three hours after it had happened.  
 _Speaking of injuries…_

Turning his gaze back to Clint, still lying on his lap, Pietro saw that blood had soaked through the bandage on the right side of his neck. He stroked his fingers softly over the wound, quickly withdrawing his hand as the archer slowly rolled his head to the right.  
A quiet moan escaped his lips.

Sympathy choked Pietro until he was almost unable to breathe. Clint's eyes flickered and he moved his head back, so he was looking up at Pietro. The younger man swallowed back his sadness, feeling hot tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

"Should…" Clint began, his voice a quiet whisper, then he paused to draw in a long breath. "Shouldn't you be resting?"

Pietro gave a small shake of his head. "I'm not a priority anymore." He ran his fingers slowly through Clint's hair. "You're more important."

Clint closed his eyes momentarily, exhaling a silent sigh. "No, I'm really not." He muttered. "I only got shot _once_ , whereas you…" He broke off, body tensing, failing to stop himself taking in a sharp breath of pain.

He let out an almost soundless cry of distress and Pietro stroked back his hair, hushing him softly.

"Don't speak." Pietro murmured quietly as Clint opened his mouth, trying to gasp out a few words.

He moved Clint's shoulders and head off of his lap, laying him on the bed carefully. Sitting on the edge, Pietro laid his hand on Clint's, his chest feeling tight with pity for the wounded archer. Eyes fluttering, Clint was struggling to stay awake, trying his best to fight off sleep. Pietro moved his hand to Clint's face, laying it on his cheek. Clint's gaze found Pietro's and he half-smiled weakly, before closing his eyes and exhaling a long breath, obviously making a huge effort to control the pain.

"Get some sleep." Pietro whispered, succeeding at stopping his voice from shaking. "I'll be here when you wake. I promise."


	23. The Past Of A Good Man

Clint shuffled in his sleep, mumbling something inaudible.

He was dreaming.

He struggled as Loki tightly grasped his wrist, twisting it so that he couldn't move without breaking his own arm. Loki's intelligent eyes were sharp with interest as he looked at Clint.

"You have heart."

He raised the sceptre, placing the point on Clint's heart. Ice spread through his body, making him gasp in a startled breath. _Fight it_ , he ordered as his body tensed. His breathing stopped and his thoughts were overwhelmed by Loki's power. A freezing calmness shrouded his mind and his vision washed with black, letting out a quiet, short sigh. When his sight recovered, it was tinged with blue and he found himself unable to control his movements or thoughts.

Fury was watching him; his expression seemed wary and afraid. Clint was aware of other people speaking, but he couldn't make out any distinguishable words. It felt like he was drowning in ice; he couldn't breathe, his throat had closed up and he felt like he was about to pass out.

He walked over to Loki, saying something that he immediately forgot after he had said it. Someone else spoke, their voice muffled as if they were talking from another room.

"Well then." Loki turned to him and Clint seemed to know what to do.

 _No, no, don't do it, don't.  
Yes, make him give us the tesseract!_

Before he could even try and stop himself, he had raised a gun and shot Nick Fury. A loud bang sounded and Nick was forced backwards, falling to the ground with a pained yell.  
 _No!_

* * *

The background changed and he was standing on a blue tinted, metal walkway about three metres above the ground.  
Clint had no idea where he was, or why he was there. He just knew he was ice cold and he couldn't breathe. He hadn't taken in a breath for so long he had forgotten how to. A voice echoed in his mind.  
 _Kill anyone who tries to stop you._  
 _Get out of my head!  
This isn't Loki, this is you. You can't force yourself out of your own head._

It was like he was watching from inside someone else's mind.

Suddenly, his feet were swept off the ground and he hit the floor with a frustrated growl, seeing a blue wisp of air flash past. He sprang up, striking his bow to the side, catching Pietro in the jaw and sending him sprawling on the ground. The younger man leapt up, wiping blood from his mouth and setting his determined expression on Clint.

"Your name is Clint Barton. You're an avenger." Pietro tried to get through to him, knowing that he had been, in a way, 'possessed'. "Stand down, or I will stop you."

 _Run! I don't have control over my actions!_ Clint wanted to scream as he immediately notched an arrow in his bow, aiming at Pietro.  
 _Kill him!_

Without warning, Pietro raced forward, grabbing Clint's bow and smacking him, forcefully, around the head.

Clint fell to the ground, onto his hands and knees, letting out a groan. It was like someone had just pulled a thorn made of ice from his heart. He looked up, the sharp, glowing blue light leaving his eyes.

"Pietro?" He breathed out the name.

The younger man gave his head a hefty slam, knocking him backwards onto the floor.

* * *

Clint's eyes shot open and he gasped in a short breath.

He was lying on the ground, on his side, between his and Tony's beds, breathing heavily. Pietro and Steve were crouched in front of him, their worried expressions fixed on Clint, who was gasping in air as though someone had just tried to asphyxiate him.

He rolled onto his front and pressed his hands against the floor, lifting his body off the ground a little. His arms trembled with the effort of lifting his full weight and he fell back down with a quiet gasp, moving to the side again. His eyelids flickered, as if he didn't have the strength to keep them open, and his eyes rolled back in his head, fluttering shut.

"Clint?" Pietro murmured, growing increasingly anxious as the archer didn't reply.

Pietro reached out a hand, gently tucking it under Clint's head and raising it off the floor slightly.

"Clint, can you hear me?"

No response.

Steve moved forward and carefully picked Clint up in his arms. He walked over and laid him on the bed, brushing back the archer's hair briefly before, stepping back to Tony's bed.

Pietro sat beside Clint, relief surging through him as he saw him open his eyes. His gaze flicked to Pietro and he blinked in confusion, eyes wandering around the ceiling.

"Are you okay?" Pietro asked softly.

"I can't… I can't move." Clint began to panic, his breathing becoming slightly elevated. "I-I can't feel anything."

Pietro hid his fear and worry. "It's alright, calm down. You're okay." He tried to assure the distressed archer. "Don't panic, it won't help."

Clint tried to take his advice, forcing his breathing to deepen and closing his eyes. "Sorry." He whispered, reopening them. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologise." Pietro murmured, stroking his fingers lightly down the side of Clint's face. "Were you dreaming by the way?"

The question took Clint a little by surprise. "Yes."

"What about?"

Clint closed his eyes briefly. "I'd rather leave it in the past."

Pietro nodded in understanding, but the archers answer had done nothing to satisfy his growing curiosity.  
Clint had said 'Pietro' in his sleep; he had sounded scared. He was about to change the subject when Clint muttered a name. A name Pietro had heard Clint mention before in connection with his nightmares.

"Loki."

Pietro bowed his head, closing his eyes. Clint had told him about Loki, and the terrible things he had forced the archer to do.  
 _But what connection do I have with Loki?_

Pietro sat there for a long time, pondering. When he finally raised his head, Clint had fallen asleep again, his breathing quiet and slow.

Pietro silently begged, any God that would listen, for the archer's sleep to go untroubled by nightmares.  
 _He's a good person_ , he thought. _Why would this happen to good people?_


	24. Stay

Pietro blinked his eyes open.  
He couldn't remember falling asleep and he frowned in confusion, a painful crick in his neck. Raising his head, he realised he was slumped against the wall at the head of Clint's bed.

He was suddenly aware of something touching his shoulder and he looked to his left, surprised to find Natasha. She looked distressed and anxious, her eyes fixed on Pietro, her hand on his shoulder.  
 _What happened?_

His face was wet, cheeks streaked with tears and he hurriedly raised a hand, wiping them away with his palm. Natasha removed her hand as Pietro slipped off the side of the bed. Swaying slightly, he rested his arm against the wall, steadying himself.

Natasha took a step towards him. "Are you okay?"

Pietro nodded, blinking a few times in attempt to clear his vision. "What…" He broke off to clear his throat. "What happened?"

"Well, you were kind of… Hyperventilating, like your breathing was really quick and irregular, and you were sort of whining."

Pietro closed his eyes momentarily, trying to remember what he had been dreaming about.

"Were you having a nightmare?" Natasha asked, her voice oddly gentle.

"I can't remember." Pietro murmured, shaking his head.

He was worried, maybe even a little scared.  
 _I always have a really clear memory of my dreams,_ Pietro thought to himself. _Why have I forgotten?_

Natasha seemed to sense his confusion and fear and attempted to change the subject.

"How are your wounds?" She asked quietly, brushing her fingers over a bullet hole on his right arm.

Pietro hesitated for a moment. "Fine. I'd almost forgotten about it."

"That's a lie." Natasha commented with a short, almost silent sigh. "It's not something you forget easily, Pietro."

Pietro said nothing, lifting his head and looking over his shoulder as Clint stirred slightly, letting out a quiet murmur.

"I…" Pietro paused and took a deep breath. "I don't like seeing them this way." He admitted in a hushed voice.

To his surprise Natasha's eyes softened in understanding. "I know. I don't either, but you'll have to get used to it. Clint and Tony are usually the biggest risk takers."

Pietro was about to reply when a sound to his left interrupted him. He turned to see Tony choking, his body convulsing as he fought for air.

Natasha raced over to him, sitting on the edge of his bed and taking hold of the back of his neck, lifting his head slightly.

"Tony." She whispered quietly, fear increasing when he continued to cough, beginning to twitch and shuffle restlessly. "Tony!"

"What's happening?"

She twisted round to see Steve race into the room, skidding to a halt on the right side of Tony's bed.

"I can't wake him." Natasha explained, dropping Tony's head back down on the bed as he began to twist and writhe, letting out small whimpers.

Steve desperately brushed his fingers through Tony's hair. "Tony!" He called to the sleeping man, whose breathing was laboured and elevated. "Tony, it's a dream, wake up!"

Tony jerked into wakefulness, quickly sitting up on the bed and subconsciously gripping his hand round Steve wrist, grasping it with all his strength. Steve, knowing Tony could break his arm if he wanted to, was felt shock and fear run through him for a brief moment.

"Relax, it's alright. It's just me." Steve reassured him, whispering. "It's me."

Trembling and panting heavily, Tony slackened his hold, drawing his hand away from Steve. He swallowed, doing his best to regain control of his irregular breathing. Shutting his eyes tightly, he took a few deep, shivering breaths.

"There you go. It's okay." Steve soothed, his voice calming, half bracing himself for an outburst of anger from Tony.

Tony leant to the side, resting his head on Steve's shoulder with a slight sigh.

Steve stiffened in surprise before, hesitantly, reaching his hand up and running his fingers through Tony's sweat soaked hair. He murmured some comforting words, loud enough for just Tony to hear.

Thor suddenly opened the door, flashing a quick glance at Steve and Tony before walking up to Natasha.

"There are some news people outside the tower and I don't know what to do." He muttered, his eyes flicking worriedly to Tony.

Natasha let out a frustrated breath. "Haven't they got anything better to do?"

"Apparently not."

Natasha sighed tiredly. "Okay. I'll deal with it."

She cast a look at Clint as she turned to follow Thor from the room, hesitating as if she couldn't bear to leave him.

"I'll stay with him." Pietro promised.

Natasha nodded and walked out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

* * *

True to his word, Pietro sat on the edge of Clint's bed for a considerable amount of time, watching him as he struggled in the air. He reached out a hand, laying it on his cheek for a brief second before moving it to his heart. The beat of it was slightly worrying. Truthfully, Pietro was just glad that he was still alive.

A quiet shuffling noise sounded and he looked up, seeing Wanda stirring. Jumping off the bed, Pietro walked around the foot of Clint's bed and sat on the chair beside his sister.

"Pietro?" She murmured, looking around for her brother as she blinked open her eyes.

"I'm here." He whispered, taking hold of her hand gently.

She sat up, yawning, immediately flashing a glance at Clint before turning back to Pietro.

"You should be resting." She told him, looking a little worried.

"I'm fine." He assured her. "Anyway, I promised Natasha I'd stay with Clint while she went to deal with some reporters."

Wanda looked as though she was about to order him to rest but seemed to decide against it.

"You'd better tell me if you're struggling."

"Of course." _Of course_ _ **not**_ , Pietro thought to himself.

Clint let out a quiet murmur and Pietro looked up. With a final glance at his sister, he got to his feet and walked over to the archer. He sat to the right of Clint, trying to judge whether he was awake or not.

"Clint?" He whispered quietly.

Blinking open his eyes, Clint let out a breathy groan.

"Hey Kid." He murmured quietly as his gaze found Pietro.

He flexed his fingers experimentally, satisfaction running through him as they moved. Fighting back his fear, he realised he still couldn't feel or move his legs.

Moving his hands up, he pushed himself into a sitting position, dragging his legs with him. He leant against the wall and let out a quiet sigh, closing his eyes.

"Can-Can you not…?" Pietro stuttered, gesturing to Clint's legs, noticing that he wasn't using them.

"No." Clint shook his head, saving him from having to finish the sentence.

"I don't understand." Pietro murmured. "Why can't you feel them?"

Clint hesitated for a moment, not wanting to worry him. "I think the bullet might have hit my spine, or grazed it or something." He explained to Pietro, looking up at the younger man. "Either that or I damaged it afterwards… What I'm trying to say is, I…"

He paused and sighed, looking away slightly, reluctant to say it out loud. When he finally turned back, he saw that Pietro's expression was beginning to fall into realisation.

"I think I'm…" He broke off again, growing angry at himself for not being able to say it.

Pietro quietly finished for him. "Paralysed."


	25. Clinging To Life

"Romanoff, calm down!"

Natasha spun round to glare at Nick Fury. "Calm down? Calm down?! I'll kill them! I'll-I'll…"

"You'll do no such thing." Fury replied sternly, returning her hard stare. "They already think badly of us."

Natasha looked like she was about to leap at him and Thor took hold of her wrist in a warning to stay calm. She did not relax her outraged look.

"They called Pietro a freak." She reminded him, fuming. "They called Clint useless!"

"Yes, I heard. I was there." Fury replied, sounding a lot calmer than she did. "And if I wasn't there, then you two would have probably murdered them all."

"Let's go back then, and this time you can stay here." Thor muttered.

Fury narrowed his eyes at the Asgardian, his brow furrowed. "They're trying to antagonise you."

"Well, they succeeded didn't they?" Natasha retorted before letting out a frustrated breath. "You should've let me…"

"What?" Fury interrupted. "Kill them? What good would it have done? What would the world think of you then?"

"The world can think what they like about me! I won't have people talk that way about my friends!" Natasha replied, not bothering to keep the anger from her voice. "Did you hear what that Sokovian guy asked? 'Is the fast, mutated freak really dead?'"

Fury clenched his jaw, satisfying Natasha that he was, too, angry at the reporters disrespect and lack of human decency. She turned heel and stormed out of the entrance hall, heading for the lift.

Thor, flashing a quick glance at Fury, followed her, joining her in the lift and back up to the medic room.

* * *

Steve felt Tony relax against his shoulder and began to wonder if he had fallen asleep. He looked behind him at Clint and Pietro, who were talking quietly, before turning his attention back to Tony.

"Tony." He whispered, not wanting to wake him if he really was asleep. "Are you asleep?"

"No." The quiet murmur barely reached Steve's ears. "Not yet."

Steve didn't reply, making a soft hushing noise as Tony let out a quiet noise of pain. _He's lost a lot of blood_ , Steve reflected. _Too much?_ He scattered the thought from his mind, forcefully pushing it away.

He was suddenly aware of Tony's breathing deepening and realised he was asleep. Carefully and slowly, so as not to wake him, Steve lowered Tony onto the bed and stood up. Casting a final glance at him over his shoulder, Steve, who had reached the door, pushed it open and left the room, needing space to think.

Once Tony was sure he had gone, he opened his eyes, checking Pietro wasn't watching before sitting up, his back to the wall, and untying the bandage from his chest.

The bullet was still in there.

He could feel it.

He didn't like having it there and raised a hand to the wound, which was still oozing dark, red blood down his torso. Taking a deep breath, he gritted his teeth slightly and dug his fingers into the wound, searching around in his flesh for the bullet. Pain leapt through his chest, almost making him cry out.

Pietro glanced up, eyes widening as he saw Tony. Abandoning the conversation with Clint, he instinctively sped over to Tony, a light blue wisp of smoke. He skidded to a half, gasping in the air. His legs shook, threatening to buckle but he forced himself to stay on his feet. He took hold of Tony's arm, begging him to stop, but was too weak to make him.

Tony pushed him away, locating the bullet. He gripped it tightly and, with all his remaining strength, pulled it out of his body. A cascade of blood flowed down his chest.

"Tony!"

He raised his head, blinking drowsily, seeing Steve race into the room, Thor and Natasha close behind.

* * *

Natasha ran over to Pietro, who was slumped against the wall, remarkably still standing, breathing heavily with his eyes shut. Wanda beat Natasha to him; cupping his face in her hands and making him look up at her.

"Pietro… Pietro! Look at me." She pleaded.

He blinked open his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh as they flickered shut again.

Natasha caught him as he fell, staggering a little under his weight.

"Thor." She called to the Asgardian. "Can you help?"

Thor half-ran over and, without a word, picked up Pietro in his arms. He walked over to the far side of the room, laying Pietro gently in the bed against the left wall of the room. Wanda murmured her thanks and sat on the edge of her brother's bed, relief running through her as she saw his eyes flutter open.

* * *

Meanwhile, Steve had sprinted up to Tony, completely ignoring the others.

"Oh, you idiot." Steve muttered as he caught sight of the blood covered bullet in Tony's limp hand, which was lying, palm facing upwards, beside him.

He hurriedly snatched a cloth from the small table near Tony's bed and pressed it to the source of the bleeding, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him. Tony's head fell to the side slightly, his eyelids flickering.

"Tony… Hey." Steve put a hand to the back of Tony's neck, gripping it reassuringly. "Come on. Eyes open."

Tony obeyed, lifting his head and blinking up at Steve, his fingers twitching on the hand holding the bullet. He winced as Steve wrapped a new bandage around his injury, letting out a small noise of distress. Opening his mouth, he took a few deep breaths before trying to gasp out a few words.

"Steve…" He whispered weakly, pausing occasionally to heave in the air. "I... I couldn't…"

Steve hushed him quietly. "No, please, don't try to talk. Save your strength."

Tony looked as though he wanted to say more but seemed to decide against it. He swallowed painfully, slowing his breathing. As he closed his eyes, Steve couldn't help noticing how pale he was, almost as white as the wall behind him. He hesitantly reached his hand up, touching it to the side of Tony's face.

"Tony." He whispered, growing increasingly anxious when he didn't respond.  
"Please, hang on."


	26. Blood Transfusion

Pietro blinked open his eyes with a slight groan.

Wanda's face smiled, a little sadly, down at him. "Hey." She whispered.

 _I must have fallen asleep again_ , Pietro thought, then immediately remembered Tony and rolled his head to the right.

He quickly tried to struggle up, but was detained by Wanda.

"Where's Tony?" Pietro asked, fearful of the answer.

"Pietro, calm down. He's fine." Wanda soothed him; stroking back his hair and making him lie down again. "He's just gone for a blood transfusion."

Pietro relaxed slightly. "Someone's finally asked for some doctor's help, huh?"

Wanda murmured in agreement, flashing a quick glance at Clint over her shoulder.

The archer was asleep again, head moving restlessly, fingers twitching. He suddenly rolled to the side, falling off the bed and hitting the floor with a grunt of pain. Pietro lifted his head, eyes widening and scrambling free of Wanda's hold, racing, for once without his power, to Clint. He crouched beside the archer, ignoring the dizziness swimming in his head, and sighed in relief when Clint pushed himself up with his arms, sitting with his back to the wall.

"Are you okay?" Pietro queried, gaze flicking the Clint's motionless legs.

"I'm fine." Clint assured him. "What about you?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

Clint suddenly lowered his eyes. "Can you… Could you help me up, please?" He murmured, sounding embarrassed to be asking for assistance.

"Of course." Pietro replied, offering Clint his hand.

Clint took it, gripping his fingers around Pietro's wrist. The younger man pulled him up, the archer tried to relieve him of some weight by pushing against the wall. His legs wouldn't hold him and he stumbled into Pietro's arms, letting out a quiet gasp. Pietro wrapped his arms around Clint's chest and steadied him, lifting him onto the bed.

"Thanks." Clint murmured.

"Anytime."

Wanda came over, having watched the scene with confusion. She frowned worriedly, eyes fixed on Clint.

"Can you not walk?" She asked quietly.

Clint suddenly realised that none of the others knew and shook his head. "I can't feel or move my legs." He explained. "I think the bullet might have… Paralysed me."

Wanda blinked in shock, glancing at Pietro for confirmation. To her dismay, her brother nodded- a nod so small you wouldn't see it if you weren't looking- and Wanda hesitantly reached a hand out. She laid it on Clint's knee and shut her eyes.

Almost flinching as his pain and anxiety jolted through her, Wanda picked her way through his tumble of thoughts and feelings.

His mind was a minefield of emotions. One that was missing was hope. Wanda could find no trace of it, even when she dug deep into his thoughts. She gently eased her mind from his, opening her eyes to find him watching her curiously, as if he knew she'd been looking in his head.

She drew her hand back, shivering inwardly. She had relived Clint's pain as the bullet ripped through him, leaving a blood dripping, hole in his neck.

Banishing the thoughts with a forceful twitch of her head, she turned her attention back to Clint.

* * *

"Can I see him now?"

Steve halted at the door to a medical room. A couple of doctors were stood outside, flicking through some notes, presumably Tony's. One of the Doctors nodded in reply to his question.

"Yes, but try not to wake him." He answered, gesturing for Steve to enter to room.

Steve dipped his head in thanks and quietly opened the door, stepping into the room and shutting it silently behind him.

Tony was lying on his back in a bed, which was against the centre of the back wall. A bag filled with dark, scarlet blood was to the left of his bed, raised slightly so it was above his head. A tube was attached to it, slowly seeping blood into Tony's right forearm via a cannula.

His eyes were closed, still unconscious, and his right palm faced upwards, his fingers curled slightly. His left hand was laid over his bare stomach, his slow breathing inaudible through the oxygen mask covering his nose and, slightly parted, mouth.

Steve sat on Tony's left, on the edge of the bed, just watching him breathe. After a while, the fingers on Tony's right twitched slightly, making Steve flick his gaze to his hand. Tony's eyelids fluttered a little and he rolled his head slowly to the left side, swallowing and coughing weakly. His chest heaved as he coughed and fought in the air.

Hesitantly, Steve reached his hand out, laying it on Tony's, which was still resting on his stomach.

"Tony?" He whispered. "Can you hear me?"

Letting out a quiet, breathy groan, Tony flickered open his eyes. He, slowly, half-clenched his right hand, yet there was barely any strength behind the action and he quickly relaxed it again.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked, drawing his hand away from Tony's, not missing the weakness of his movement.

Tony murmured something, muffled by the oxygen mask and raised his left hand, carefully pulling it off. "I'm fine." He replied quietly, putting it down beside him. Wincing slightly, he rolled his head to look at his right arm. He let out a short breath. "That feels really weird."

He moved his left hand to the cannula and began to try and take it out. Steve quickly took hold of Tony's wrist, pulling his hand away. The other man tried to resist but Steve barely felt his struggles.

"Don't touch." Steve ordered softly, gently holding Tony's hand down.

"I don't like it." Tony admitted quietly.

"I know." Steve replied, sympathetic, a little surprised at Tony's sudden confession. "I know. But you can't take it out. You'll just have to try and put up with it."

Tony shut his eyes, sighing. "Okay, be honest." His voice changed slightly, sounding more like himself. "How close was I to dying?"

Steve hesitated for a brief second. "Pretty close... You shouldn't have taken out that bullet."

"What else was I supposed to do?" Tony muttered, falling into silence to swallow back a cough.

"You should've let the doctor's deal with it."

Tony sighed again, silently, knowing that he could not explain why he had done it. "I guess so."

He stifled a yawn, suddenly feeling tired. Noticing this, Steve's eyes softened.

"You should get some sleep." He murmured.

Tony nodded, accepting his request. Closing his eyes, he was briefly surprised by how fast sleep came and he slipped into darkness. As he fell asleep, he let out a quiet breath, head dropping slightly to the side.

Swallowing back his pity, Steve took Tony's jaw in his hand and gently turned his face upwards. He lifted the oxygen mask back over Tony's mouth; the inside misted every time he exhaled a breath.

Steve sighed. "Why do you do this to yourself Tony?"


	27. Burning

Tony blinked open his eyes, immediately shutting them again at the new light.

When his sight adjusted, he allowed his eyes to wander around the ceiling before rolling his head to the left. On a chair next to his bed sat Steve. He seemed to be asleep, his head rested on his folded arms, on the right arm of the seat with his eyes shut. The calming sound of his soft, slow breathing filled the room.

Tony's hand wandered, subconsciously, to his right arm. Brushing his fingers over the cannula made him shudder. He was longing to take it out. For some, unknown, reason, he couldn't stand having it in his flesh, under his skin.

He took hold of the edge of a piece of tape, which was keeping the needle in place, ready to rip it off.

Something made him hesitate.

 _Not a good idea,_ a voice in his head warned.

 _But it doesn't feel right,_ he argued. _I really don't like it._

 _If you do, then you will literally die._

Tony stopped, slowly drawing his hand away from his arm. He rubbed his left palm to his forehead, sighing and closing his eyes.

This was when Steve woke up. He blinked open his eyes, lifting his head to see Tony with his hand to his face, breathing deeply and slowly.

"Tony?"

Opening his eyes, Tony flicked his gaze to Steve before taking his hand away. Suddenly becoming aware of the oxygen mask covering his mouth, Tony lifted it off, putting it down beside him.

"Hey Rogers." He murmured quietly.

Steve exhaled shortly in amusement. He stood up and walked over, sitting on the edge of Tony's bed. Tony let out a small chuckle at his next words.

"So…" Steve smiled slightly. "How's your life going?"

* * *

Natasha stood with her mouth hanging open slightly.

Pietro had just informed her of Clint's medical state and she found herself speechless with shock.

 _Clint was Paralysed!?_

Looking over her shoulder, she saw him, asleep on his bed. Wanda was sat in a chair to his right, looking at him worriedly. He was shuffling restlessly, yet only moving his head and arms. As he rolled his head to the side, letting out a quiet whimper, Pietro took a few steps over to him. He sat on the edge of the archer's bed, laying a hand on his forehead.

Heat pulsed from Clint's skin and his fingers twitched and trembled.

"He's burning up." Pietro murmured.

He stroked back Clint's hair and, after a short moment, he felt someone nudge his arm and Natasha handed him a cold, slightly damp, cloth.

Taking it with a mumble of thanks, Pietro gently wiped it to the archer's forehead, trying to cool him. Clint began to pant, fast and heavy, his entire body shaking.

Pietro laid his other hand on the side of Clint's face. "Clint." He whispered. "Clint, please. Please wake up."

The archer's head thrashed quickly to each side, chest heaving as he fought in the air. Pietro lightly gripped his hand to the uninjured side of Clint's neck, stroking his thumb to his cheek.

Gasping in a short breath, Clint's eyes flickered open, still panting heavily. His cloudy gaze rested on Pietro and he closed his eyes, trying to deepen his breathing.

"Clint, are you okay?" Natasha asked from where she stood beside his bed, the anxiousness clear in her voice.

Clint felt like he barely had the strength to open his eyes but forced himself to look up at her.

"Yeah." He murmured. "I'm okay."

No sooner had he said the sentence, his body became racked with a hoarse coughing fit, wasting the little strength he had left. When it finally ended, he found himself unable to keep his eyes open and let them flutter shut, rolling his head back to the centre. He dimly heard a muffled voice, but didn't decipher any clear words.

Someone took hold of his left hand.

"Clint, squeeze my hand if you can hear me."

He twitched his fingers and grasped it as tight as he could, well aware that the movement was unbearably weak. A hand touched his cheek, surprising him a little.

Half blinking open his eyes, he caught sight of Pietro gazing worriedly down at him. The image lasted only a brief second before Clint's eyes closed again, ready to give into the temptingly calm darkness.

"Try and stay conscious." Pietro pleaded. "Please, hold on."

Clint swallowed painfully, gradually slowing his breathing. Pietro's heart was in his throat. He couldn't bear seeing Clint like this.

He soaked a cloth in a bowl of water, which was on a table beside the bed, wringing it out above Clint. The droplets splashed onto Clint's lips, slowly dripping into his slightly parted mouth. At first, Pietro was under the impression that the archer had fallen unconscious but, after about five drops of the cool liquid had entered his mouth, Clint swallowed.

Pietro dropped the cloth back on the table as Clint rolled his head to the left. His eyelids flickered open, obviously making a huge effort to keep them that way.

"Piet… Pietro." He breathed the words quietly, barely loud enough to hear, pausing in places to gasp in the air. Speaking made his heartbeat quicken dramatically but he forced himself to continue. "I-I… I c-can't…"

Pietro took Clint's jaw in his hand, stopping him before he could say anymore. The archer opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to speak again.  
No words formed.

 _What's happening to me?_ Clint questioned in his mind, feeling his eyes begin to flicker shut.

A quiet sigh escaped him as his head fell limp against Pietro's hand, finally accepting the painless darkness.


	28. Breathe

_'I won't touch Barton, not until I make him kill you. Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear. And then he'll wake just long enough to see his good work. And when he screams I'll split his skull!"_

Natasha gasped as Clint pinned her to the wall with an arm, ruthlessly twisting a dagger to her stomach. She let out a cry of pain, sliding down the wall as blood pooled from her body. Cold, icy blue eyes glared down, seeming to burn into her.

Clint swiped the knife to her face, cutting open her cheek. He had been slowly killing her for at least an hour and she had begged him to end it and just finish her off several times.

Crouching down beside her, he took her arm in his hand and turned it so her wrist was exposed. She tried to struggle free but was too exhausted to overpower him. A cruel smile split his face and he dug the blade into the top of her forearm, slicing it down unbearably slowly. Dark, scarlet blood welled in the path of the sharp, jagged metal.

Natasha writhed in his tight grasp, twitching like a landed fish, tears of anguish sliding down her face. The blood lust in Clint's glowing eyes was unnaturally terrifying. He finally finished slitting her arm, stopping just before he reached her hand. Pressing the knife to her neck, he looked into her eyes.

"Clint." She whispered weakly, her voice hoarse from crying. "Please… Don't…"

Her sentence was cut off with a choke as Clint thrust the knife into her throat. Clint stood up, looking on coldly as her body convulsed, drowning on her own blood. Falling down the wall, she collapsed to her side, limbs jerking one final time before her eyes glazed over, staring at nothing.

An odd sensation suddenly overwhelmed Clint, like he had just emerged from icy water. He blinked in confusion, the sharp, blue glow extinguishing from his irises. His gaze rested on Natasha, blood pouring from her throat onto the shined floor. Her eyes were open, glassy and her face was cut and bruised.  
She was dead.

A scream of horror escaped Clint's lips.

In a flash of green and gold, Loki appeared at his side, holding the same knife Clint had used to murder Natasha. He grasped a handful of Clint's hair and forced him to kneel, still shrieking.

Loki stabbed the knife into the archer's head, shattering his skull, abruptly cutting off his screams. He fell limply beside Natasha, a trickle of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, his legs twisted at an awkward angle. Shock and fear was still etched on his face, the emotion bright in his unblinking eyes.

Crouching beside him, Loki looked down at the dead man, smiling wickedly.

"This is what you deserved."

* * *

Clint jolted into wakefulness, gasping in the air.

His eyes flickered open to see some doctors rushing around his bed, anxiousness coming off them in waves. His eyesight was blurred and unfocused. Pain immediately rushed through his chest and he tensed, pressing his head hard against the bed, shutting his eyes tightly.

Someone took hold of his left hand, grasping it reassuringly.

With a slight groan, he opened his eyes, finding Pietro sat beside him, on the edge of his bed.

Clint's heart was racing, panting fast and heavy. He let out a quiet, distressed sound, chest heaving as he fought in the air.

"It's okay, It's okay, deep breaths." Pietro ordered, his anxiousness crystal clear.

Clint shut his eyes, taking a few deep, long gulps. A doctor quickly appeared by his side, lifting an oxygen mask over his mouth. He drank in the air hungrily, as if he hadn't taken a breath for years. When he had finally regained control, he swallowed, blinking open his eyes again.

"Wh-What happened?" He stuttered, his voice muffled by the mask.

"We don't really know." Pietro admitted. "You just… stopped breathing."

He suddenly remembered something, though he wasn't sure if he should tell Clint. _Will he stress out?_

"Your wife's here."

Clint raised his head slightly. Laura was stood outside the room with Natasha. She was peering anxiously through the half glass wall. _Damn it,_ Clint thought to himself. _I didn't want her to see me like this._ He forced himself to smile weakly at her and half raised his hand in greeting. Her eyes narrowed in sympathy.

Obviously, she had been told she wasn't allowed in and Clint was guiltily relieved.

"Do you want to see her?" Pietro echoed the question in Clint's mind.

Clint didn't answer for a while, setting his unfocused gaze on the ceiling above him. "If I'm allowed to." He murmured eventually.

Pietro stood up, letting Clint's hand fall from his, and walked over to the door. He motioned for the doctors to leave; they did so without question. He opened the door quietly, stepping out to Natasha and Laura.

"He's asking for you." He stepped aside, gesturing for Laura to go in.

That wasn't entirely true. Pietro knew that.

Laura nodded to him gratefully, taking a step into the room. She paused, looking back.

"You're Pietro, aren't you?"

Pietro, blinked in astonishment, surprised that she knew who he was. He quickly nodded in reply and Laura smiled.

"I can never repay you enough for what you did for him." She suddenly said, making Pietro speechless with shock.

Before he could even try and think of a reply, Laura had walked away from him, sitting down on the edge of her husband's bed. Pietro silently shut the door, giving them some privacy.

* * *

"Clint?"

Clint blinked open his eyes, unaware that he had closed them. Laura was sat beside him; her soft gaze was bright with worry. He raised a hand, taking the oxygen mask from his face and putting it beside him.

"Hey." He murmured.

She smiled slightly, face quickly turning back to worry. "What happened?"

Clint looked up at her in surprise. "Don't you know?"

His weak voice sent shivers down Laura's spine. He had never sounded that bad, not even after the battle in New York.

"Natasha told me but I wanted to hear it from your point of view." She responded quietly, yet was now worried that Clint was too weak to recite the story.

"I'd tell you if…" He paused to take in a breath. "If I could." He finished, confirming Laura's fears.

"Don't." She advised gently. A long pause stretched out. "I guess it'll be a while until you can come home." She added quietly.

Clint opened his mouth to reply but no sound was uttered. Throat suddenly closing up, Clint found himself unable to talk.

Unable to breathe.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to gasp in the air. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't.

"Clint!" Laura laid her hand on his cheek, desperation sharp in her voice. "Sweetie, breathe!"

Pietro suddenly appeared on Clint's other side, having been watching the scene from outside. Natasha quickly followed him, gently pulling Laura back a few paces.

All his attention fixed on Clint; Pietro, sitting beside him, hurriedly brushed back the archer's hair before gently taking Clint's head in his hands. He lifted it slightly; looking into Clint's fluttering eyes. The archer was trying and failing to struggle in the air, chest heaving as he attempted to take in a breath.

"Clint, come on. Breathe." He pleaded quietly. "You can do it, I know you can. Please, just breathe and then you can sleep."

Clint's mouth parted in a soundless wail of distress, shutting his eyes tightly. His whole body was shaking but his trembles were growing weaker by the second. He was growing tired. Sooner or later, he wouldn't have enough strength left. If he didn't breathe soon he would pass out, or worse.

His body suddenly convulsed, drawing in a long, gasping, shuddering breath. Relief clouded over him at the sensation of breathing again. Exhausted from the effort of staying conscious, he allowed his body to go completely limp. Still panting heavily, he flickered open his eyes as Pietro laid his head gently back down. He gulped in the air as if he would ever have enough, trying hard to deepen his breathing.

He blinked up at Pietro, planning on speaking but he didn't have time. Eyes fluttering shut, his head fell to the side, immediately slipping into unconsciousness.

Laura raced over to him, laying one hand on his heart and grasping the other around Clint's left wrist. The beat of his heart was fast, yet gradually slowing. She sighed with relief that he was still alive. Cupping Clint's head in her hands, she kissed his forehead softly and whispered something inaudible.

Pietro, feeling like he was intruding, quickly stood up, taking a few steps back. He was shivering with the shock of Clint's condition. _Please say he is never going to do that again._ It had terrified Pietro. He was truly scared for Clint's life.

"I should be getting back to my children." Laura murmured after a while, looking up at Pietro, who nodded in understanding. "Call me if there's any change."

She suddenly motioned for Pietro to come closer. Which he did. She took hold of his hand, pulling it gently over to Clint. Lifting her husband's hand, she placed it carefully in Pietro's.

"Look after him for me."


	29. Operation

"Tony!"

Tony dimly heard the muffled voice, slowly merging from dream to reality. _Is the voice from my dream, or am I dying in real life?_ Someone gently shook his shoulder and he opened his eyes a fraction.

He was lying on his side on the cold floor. Steve was kneeling beside him, his hand on his shoulder. Tony flicked his gaze to him, squeezing his eyes tightly as pain shot through his chest. A spasm of anguish contorted his pale face and he let out a quiet noise of distress.

Steve ran his fingers through Tony's dark hair, trying to comfort him.

Exhaling a long, calming breath, Tony flicked open his eyes again. He rolled onto his front and pushed himself up with his arms. As he got to his hands and knees, however, his right arm buckled and he fell into Steve's lap. He instinctively murmured "Ow". Steve quickly helped him back up, pushing him carefully into a sitting position.

Tony dropped his head back, resting it against the wall. He could still hear the screeches echoing in his ears. They never stopped. The dream was too vivid. Because it wasn't just a dream.

It was memory.

The screams of the Chitauri. The deafening explosions as their mothership went up in flames. And the inevitable silence. The darkness as Tony's eyes flickered shut; he had done what he needed to. Every night he would relive that moment.

Unless he didn't sleep.

Unless it was replaced by the horrifying image Wanda had uncovered from his mind while she was working with Ultron.

"Tony, are you okay!?"

He blinked open his eyes, realising he was shivering. Swallowing, he forced his breathing to deepen, drawing in long breaths and exhaling them slowly.

"I'm fine, fine. I just have to stay here for a minute." He murmured.

Steve nodded slowly and waited, giving Tony all the time he needed. Though he would never admit it, Tony felt too shaken by his past at the moment to stand. His legs felt like they were too weak to keep him up. Steve hadn't asked him what he had been dreaming about and Tony was grateful for his understanding.

 _Was that what friends did? Do they just know what to say and what to leave untouched?_ Tony wondered. _I wouldn't know, would I?_

* * *

Pietro sat on the edge of Clint's bed, hesitantly taking hold of his hand.

It had been about six hours since Laura had left and Clint was still deep in slumber.

The archer, for once, was sleeping peacefully, the rise and fall of his chest slow and steady. His head was turned slightly to the left side, towards Pietro; his eyes were shut, his breath clouding the inside of the oxygen mask. One hand- his right hand- was laid over his stomach, the other hanging limply in Pietro's.

"Bruce is back." Pietro whispered quietly to the sleeping man. "Natasha called him and told him what happened and he got a flight back almost straight away."

Pietro tilted his head slightly to one side, searching for any signs that Clint had heard. There was none. The archer was motionless, unresponsive to Pietro's words. _Is he still unconscious?_ Pietro wondered. _Shouldn't he have woken up by now?_

"I think he feels a bit guilty that he wasn't at the battle to help you guys." Pietro went on, trying to sound calm, even though he knew Clint couldn't hear him. "Anyway, he's been in here a couple of times. Doing some… science, doctor things. I didn't get most of it. Hardly any of it actually... I guess he's just too clever for any of us to understand."

He looked down sadly at Clint. "You would have laughed at that."

The door opened quietly and Bruce walked in, his eyes narrowing in pity as his gaze found Clint.

"How is he?" He asked quietly, stopping beside Pietro.

"I'm not sure. I don't think he's in pain." Pietro murmured, gently laying Clint's hand back down beside him. "He's still unconscious though." He looked worriedly up at Bruce and echoed the question in his mind. "Shouldn't he have woken up by now?"

Bruce didn't answer, putting his hand on Clint's heart to check its rate. He quickly drew it back as Clint stirred; rolling his head to the centre so his face was looking to the ceiling. He coughed weakly a few times before blinking open his eyes.

"Banner?" He croaked, looking up at the scientist.

"Evening." Bruce murmured, inspiring a short, weak breath of laughter from Clint.

The archer pushed his hands against the bed, struggling up into a sitting position with only the use of his arms, dragging his legs with him and leaning with his back against the wall. He soon noticed that Bruce was looking at him curiously, like he was assessing his health.

"What?"

Bruce jumped, as if Clint had disrupted a deep thought. He stuttered around for a moment, attempting to speak, before pausing and taking in a silent breath. "I… Think there might be a way to make you… not paralysed."

Clint blinked in astonishment and Pietro quickly snapped his attention to Bruce, who was looking awkward.

"How?" Clint asked, looking intently up at Bruce.

"It's a risky operation." Bruce warned. "Especially when you're as weak as you are. You-" He broke off, debating on whether to tell him or not. "You could die. In fact… there's a rather high chance you will."

Clint looked up at him, straight into his eyes. "I would rather die than live like this."

Pietro's breath caught in his throat as he saw the seriousness in Clint's expression.

"Clint, think about it." Bruce urged. "I don't think you-"

"I've made my choice." Clint interrupted him.

"Maybe you should wait." Pietro murmured quietly, agreeing with Bruce's concern. "Until you get your strength back."

"I can't." Clint replied simply. "I just can't. I can't deal with this anymore, not being able to feel anything."

Bruce exchanged a glance with Pietro. The younger man gave him a small nod, confirming Clint's seriousness. He knew what it was like not being able to move. It was terrifying.

"Okay." Bruce sighed the word. "Okay, I'll get it sorted. You'll have to come to another room with the right equipment though." He added.

Clint nodded, "Thank you."

* * *

"I'm afraid you can't stay in the room while the procedure is taking place."

Pietro dipped his head in understanding to the doctor. "I know."

He cast a look over his shoulder. Through the large glass window on the wall behind him, he could see Clint, lying on his side in a hospital bed. As Pietro watched, a doctor approached the archer. Clint said something and the doctor motioned towards the window where Pietro was.

Raising his head slightly, Clint cast a weak smile at Pietro and lifted his fingers a fraction. Pietro returned his smile and nodded reassuringly.

Clint dropped his head back down and exhaled a long breath. Bruce walked up to him.

"Are you sure about this?" He asked for about the millionth time.

He was holding an oxygen mask in his hand, a tube attached to it, leading to a tank of what was, presumably, anaesthetic.

Clint nodded and Bruce, finally seeming to accept Clint's certainty, didn't question him again. He carefully lifted the mask over Clint's mouth. Clint took in a mouthful of the cold, sweet air and immediately felt his eyelids beginning to close. All feeling of pain was vaporised as his eyes flickered shut. His body relaxed and he fell into darkness.

* * *

Pietro was stood outside the room, watching through the glass window.

The doctors milled around Clint, working in complete silence. Bruce was in there too, flicking through notes, glancing up occasionally to fix Clint with a worried look.

Pietro caught his breath as one of the doctors made an incision to the back of Clint's neck. The other doctors busied themselves trying to control the bleeding. Even from a distance Pietro could see the blood. It made his neck feel oddly exposed.

He could see one of the doctors, holding some tweezers, carefully moving them about in the cut at the back of Clint's neck. After a while, a dim, yet high pitched, beeping noise sounded in Pietro's ears, growing increasing faster. He was beginning to think he was imagining it but the doctors clearly heard it too. They all stiffened, turning their gazes to Clint.

The archer's chest was rising and falling quickly, drawing in short gasping breaths. His unconscious form was shaking violently, his body convulsing as the spasms shook him. Pietro ran in, unknowingly using his power. He skidded to a halt in the room, between Clint's bed and the door, and arms quickly wrapped around his torso, holding him back. It was Bruce.

"Keep back." He warned. "Just let the doctor's deal with it."

"No, no, no…" Pietro whispered despairingly, not taking his eyes off Clint as the doctors rushed around his bed.

His legs were trembling, shaking with the effort of standing after using his power. Bruce didn't notice until Pietro suddenly fell limp in his hold. The beeping was fast and loud now, vibrating through Bruce's ears as he staggered under Pietro's weight. As he lowered Pietro, so the younger man was on his hands and knees, he noticed the beeping slow and falter.

He straightened up, abandoning Pietro and racing to Clint's side. The archer's breathing was still elevated but slowing rapidly and his body was motionless once more, apart from the faint movement of his chest as he breathed. A doctor was fumbling around in the incision, flashing a quick glance at Bruce before silently continuing his work.

Hearing a pained grunting noise behind him, Bruce spun round. Pietro was scrambling to his feet, swaying slightly as he stood. He shook away the dizziness with a twitch of his head and immediately ran up to Clint.

"Are you okay?" Bruce asked quietly, feeling like he had to lower his voice even though he knew Clint couldn't be woken by noise.

Pietro nodded, his eyes fixed on Clint. "Fine."

A quiet sigh was exhaled from his lips and he reached out a hand, gently stroking back Clint's hair.

"Is he going to be okay?" He asked, looking at Bruce.

The scientist nodded. "I'll make sure he is."


	30. Regaining Feeling

"Hasn't he woken up yet?"

Pietro looked up from where he sat on the edge of Clint's bed. The archers operation had ended a few hours ago but, though he was no longer wearing the mask, the anaesthetic was still heavy on his mind. Natasha was here again. She visited Clint regularly, though not staying for long.

"There was a moment where I thought he opened his eyes, but it was only for a second." Pietro replied as she stopped beside him.

As if his words were a signal, Clint's eyelids flickered, his unfocused gaze resting on Pietro for a heartbeat before his eyes rolled back in his head and closed again. Pietro laid his hand on Clint's, looking at him closely, judging if he was waking up or not.

"Clint?" He whispered, relief surging through him as Clint's eyes fluttered a little, though not opening, as if he could hear Pietro speaking.

Pietro clasped his hand in Clint's. "Can you hear me?"

The archer didn't reply but, after a moment, Pietro felt his hand move. Looking down, he saw Clint's fingers twitch as he weakly squeezed Pietro's hand. Flickering open his eyes, he narrowed them slightly against the new light. He blinked up at Pietro and slightly raised his head. Letting out a pained gasp, his hand flew to the back of his neck and he dropped his head back down.

"Are you okay?" Pietro asked worriedly.

"Y-yeah." Clint muttered, running a finger along the scar on his neck. "Fine."

The door opened and Bruce walked in.

"How long have you been awake?" He asked, catching sight of Clint.

"About ten seconds." Clint answered drowsily, slowly rolling onto his back.

Bruce stopped on his left side, opposite to Pietro. He ran a hand down Clint's shin.

"Can you feel that?" He asked, glancing up at Clint.

When the archer shut his eyes, Bruce knew he couldn't. "It's okay. It'll probably take a few days to settle in."

"Has it not worked?" Clint murmured quietly.

"It's worked, I'm sure of it." Bruce assured him. "The anaesthetic is just sort of numbing your legs at the moment. At most, it'll be three days before you regain feeling."

This seemed to persuade Clint and Bruce fought back his concern. **_Should_** _he have regained feeling by now? It did take him longer than usual to wake up._ He walked over to a desk in the corner of the room, fumbling about with a few files in attempt to hide his worried frown. A hand gently touched his shoulder and he looked to the side. It was Natasha.

"Were you lying?" She asked, her voice quiet so Clint and Pietro could not hear. "Did the operation go wrong?"

Bruce hesitated; casting a quick look over his shoulder, to make sure Clint wasn't listening. "He… He had a sort of seizure halfway through it. So, I'm not sure if that affected it or not."

Natasha shut her eyes momentarily, pity for Clint rising inside her. "It _has_ to have worked." She insisted. "He doesn't deserve to live like this."

"I know." Bruce agreed. "And if it hasn't worked, then I won't stop trying until it has. Okay?"

After a few moments hesitation, he turned to her and kissed her gently on the cheek before walking back over to Clint. Her eyes widened in surprise, taking a long time to process his action. Shaking her head, scattering the surprise, she turned to look at Clint. Concern surged through her. His eyes were shut.

"Clint…"She whispered aloud, too quiet for anyone to hear.

She ran up to him, sitting on the edge of his bed and looking at him closely. His chest rose and fell slowly, sending relief surging through Natasha. She cast a look at Pietro, who was sat on Clint's other side.

"He's fine." Pietro assured her softly, his hand still holding Clint's. He was subconsciously stroking his thumb to the back of the archer's hand. "He's sleeping."

"You should rest too." Natasha advised him. "You haven't slept for a long time."

Pietro shook his head, saying nothing. He felt sick, an uncomfortable lump of grief in his throat.

"Okay, now it's an order."

He looked up at Natasha, seeing the seriousness in her eyes. Letting out a quiet sigh, he grudgingly nodded and stood up. Clint's hand fell from his, dropping limply beside him on the bed. He walked towards the door, limping slightly as a dull pain flew through his chest. Opening the door, he suddenly realised he had no idea where he was going. He turned back to Natasha.

"Umm… Sorry but, have I got a room?"

Her mouth formed an 'o' of realisation. Quickly walking over, she stopped beside him.

"I think we decided that yours should be next to Wanda's." She told him, casting a glance at Clint over her shoulder. "He'll probably sleep for a while…" She murmured, half to herself, before shaking her head as if flicking away a troublesome fly. "Follow me."

* * *

Clint flicked open his eyes.

The room was dark. It was obviously rather late at night, as a cold silence accompanied the black. At first he thought no one was here, but soon he became aware of a soft, slow breathing sound coming from somewhere near the lower half of his body. He raised his head, surprised to find Pietro, asleep beside him.

The younger man was curled up tightly, facing away from Clint, his knees to his chest, his head near the archer's hip. He looked small and weak as he let out a quiet, piteous whimper, twitching in his sleep. Clint reached out a hand, lightly stroking Pietro's white hair. The action seemed to calm him a little, relaxing as his breathing began to deepen.

Clint pushed his hands against the bed, dragging himself up into a sitting position, careful not to wake Pietro. He struggled a bit and shifted one leg, using it for support, leaning with his back against the wall.

He froze.

 _Did I just move my leg?_ He asked himself, shocked. Hesitantly, he reached out a hand, laying it on his left knee. He could feel the light weight of his own hand, making him stiffen with surprise.

He swung his legs off the side of the bed, relieved when he felt the floor beneath his feet. Taking in a deep breath, he tensed and slipped off the bed…


	31. Moving

Pietro woke with a jolt.

A yell of pain had sliced through his nightmare. _Clint!_

He quickly scrambled off the bed, scanning his gaze around the dark room, looking for the archer. His eyes widened and he let out a quiet gasp as he caught sight of a motionless body, sprawled on the floor to the left of the bed. Pietro ran around the bed, using his power, and skidded to a clumsy halt beside the figure.

"Clint." He whispered.

The archer was lying on his side, his eyes were shut, his mouth open slightly. A trickle of crimson blood was seeping from a cut on his head, above his right eye; injured from the impact of hitting the floor. Pietro reached out a hand, stroking back Clint's hair. He moved his hand down to the archer's jaw, gently pushing it up and closing his mouth.

Dizziness swam in Pietro's head, clouding his vision for a heartbeat. With a twitch of his head, he shook it away, amazed to find his sight clearing. Clint stirred slightly, beginning to come round.

"Clint? Clint, can you hear me?"

Clint let out a quiet groan, his eyes flickering open. He raised a hand to his forehead, lightly touching the bleeding cut before pushing his hands against the floor. Pietro helped him up, hauling the archer to his feet. He was about to carry Clint back to his bed but Clint's next words stopped him.

"I-I think I can walk."

Pietro froze, releasing the archer and taking a small step back. "You sure?"

Though his legs were trembling with the effort of standing, Clint nodded. He took a shaky step forward. His leg immediately buckled and he fell, shutting his eyes as he braced to make contact with the hard floor. A strong arm wrapped around his chest, catching him before he hit the ground. He opened his eyes. White strands of hair obscured his vision. _Pietro._

"Are you okay?" He heard the younger man ask, concern lacing his voice.

"Fine-I'm fine." Clint muttered quickly.

Pietro slung Clint's arm around his neck, helping him back to the bed. Clint leant heavily on Pietro and he limped over, barely putting any weight on his legs, and pushed himself up onto the bed. He let out a sigh, hanging his head. After a moment Pietro came and sat beside him, laying a hand on Clint's jaw and turned his face towards him. Clint's face twitched in a slight wince as Pietro pressed a cloth to the cut on his head.

"Sorry." Pietro immediately muttered an apology.

"It's fine."

Pietro carefully wiped away the dark scarlet blood, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"What's up?" Clint asked, seeing his expression.

Pietro shook his head, muttering, "Nothing."

Little did Clint know Pietro's eyes were not narrowed in thought, but pain. His wounds were hurting. Running up to Clint had been the first time, since he had obtained his injuries, that he had not collapsed afterwards. Finishing cleaning Clint's cut; he put the cloth down beside him on the bed. Anguish contorted his face a little and his hand flew to his heart. Taking deep breaths, he tried to calm himself.

"Pietro!"

Unaware he had closed his eyes, he blinked them open. He let out a long breath, lowering his hand from his chest.

"What happened?" Clint asked, worry sharp in his voice. "Are you alright?"

"I… I don't know…" Pietro murmured.

Clint hesitated for a moment before asking, "Does it hurt?"

Pietro nodded slightly, saying nothing. They sat in silence for a long time, Clint stretching his legs experimentally. The door opened quietly and they both looked to the right, jolted from their memories. Bruce came in, stopping abruptly as he saw them.

"You're supposed to be asleep." He said, his words directed at Clint. Then he switched his gaze to Pietro. "So are you."

He didn't get a reply from either of the two men. Frowning slightly, Bruce walked over to the bed, sitting in between them. He looked at Clint, gaze flicking to his legs. Noticing this, Clint straightened his right leg, stretching it until he trembled. Bruce's eyes widened.

"You can move?"

Clint nodded, but, for some reason still looked a little downcast.

"Can you walk?" Bruce asked, wondering if Clint had already tried.

As Clint shook his head, Bruce saw the fresh cut above his eye for the first time. "That'll need stitches." He murmured, gesturing to the injury.

Pushing himself off the bed, Bruce walked over to a desk and took a medical kit from it. Pietro threw the cloth to him as he was walking back and he caught it with one hand. Sitting down again, he quickly cleaned the remaining blood from the cut and began to stitch Clint's flesh back together. He used a transparent thread, designed to dissolve when the wound was healed. Clint tensed a little as Bruce bonded his skin.

"You should go get some sleep." Bruce suggested to Pietro, finishing the stitches and packing the equipment back in the box.

Pietro sighed, but nodded. He _was_ tired. Getting to his feet, a dull pain shot through his chest but he ignored it.

"See you later." He murmured, looking over his shoulder as he reached the door.

"Goodnight." Clint replied quietly.

Pietro opened the door and trudged down the corridor, walking to his room.


	32. Never-ending

Pietro blinked open his eyes.

He was standing in a church- _Why a church? -_ yet there were no objects in the room. A deathly silence gripped the world, sending a cold shiver down Pietro's spine. His breath caught in his throat. The avengers were strewn across the dusty marble floor, blood pooling on the floor under each body. They were dead.

Tony was slumped against the right wall, his suit in pieces around him, a gaping hole in his chest where his heart had been torn out. His whole body was drenched in his own blood, the scarlet liquid stretching all the way to Steve, who was lying near him. The soldier's head was resting in blood, soaking part of his blonde hair red. A shard of his shield had been used as a weapon against him, the jagged metal sunk deep in his chest.

Natasha and Bruce were lying side by side, behind Pietro, their hands almost touching. A deep cut had been slit in Natasha's neck and Bruce's, human, body was littered with bullet wounds. Vision had no blood, yet the yellow gem in his forehead had been cracked down the middle and lay in two halves beside his motionless body. The hilt of a dagger was sticking out the side of Thor's head; his arm was stretched out to one side, his hammer just beyond his reach. Clint was lying on his back, struck down by three of his own arrows, which were embedded deep in his chest.

Pietro saw one body that made him freeze. Wanda. His sister was lying, facing away from him about ten metres ahead.

"Wanda…" He whispered.

He sprinted over to her, skidding to a halt and falling to his knees beside her. Wanda's eyes were shut, a bullet had been shot directly in her throat and dark blood was cascading down her neck onto the floor. Pietro lifted the top half of her body off the ground, cradling her in his arms. Sobbing silently, he allowed tears to fall freely down his cheeks, stroking one hand to Wanda's hair. He softly kissed her forehead. Her skin was icy beneath his lips.

"Wanda." He sobbed the name, closing his eyes. "Come back… Please… I need you."

"She's dead."

Pietro whipped round as the weak voice sounded in his ears. _Clint? He's alive!_ He gently laid Wanda back on the ground and raced over to Clint, crouching next to him. The archer gazed up at him, his eyes cloudy. Pietro reached out, gripping one of the arrows in Clint's chest. A hand wrapped around his wrist, stopping him before he could pull it out.

"There's nothing you can do." Clint murmured, his voice weak and quiet. "I'm already dead."

"No, no, no." Pietro muttered repeatedly, raising Clint's head off the floor slightly and desperately brushing his hair back. "You're going to be okay. You'll be fine."

Clint's eyes flickered, threatening to close.

"Hey. Come on, talk to me. What happened?" Pietro urged the archer to stay conscious.

"You… You weren't there for us…" Clint breathed the words, barely loud enough to hear. "You weren't the-there."

Before Pietro could reply, a choked gasp escaped Clint and he exhaled a quiet breath, his eyes glazing over, staring at nothing. A thin runnel of blood trickled from the corner of his parted mouth, slowly winding its way down his jaw.

"Clint…" Pietro whispered, resting his forehead on Clint's when he didn't get a response. "Oh Clint…"

He carefully placed Clint's head down, salty tears dripping down his face. Gently laying a thumb and index finger on the archer's eyelids, Pietro closed Clint's glassy eyes. He stroked his fingers down the dead man's pale cheek.

"I'm sorry Clint." He whispered through his tears. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

Pietro woke with a start, sitting bolt upright on his bed.

His breathing was fast and heavy, his chest heaving as he fought in the air. A sheen of sweat covered his body. The nightmare had left him crying, sobs shaking his body. He swung his legs off the side of the bed, sitting on the edge and raising his hands to his eyes and wiping away the tears. More just fell down his face, so he quickly gave up trying to stop them. Someone gently cupped his face in their hands, turning his head towards them. _Wanda_. She stroked his hair comfortingly, pulling her brother into a hug. She held him for a long time, hushing him softly as he tried to regain control of his, seemingly unstoppable, sobs.

"It's okay, it's okay." Wanda whispered quietly into his pale hair. "You're okay, I'm here. You're safe."

Pietro drew in a few deep shivering breaths, still crying, tears streaming down his cheeks. He couldn't take these nightmares much longer. That had been the worst one so far. None of the others had made him cry this much for this long.

Wanda clearly understood this. She hugged him until his sobbing subsided and gradually died down. He took in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly, in attempt to calm himself. Slackening her hold on him, Wanda helped him sit up straight. She took his face in her hands, brushing away his tears with her thumbs.

"There…" She murmured. "You're alright."

Pietro swallowed, closing his eyes to push away the remaining tears. His dream was still swimming vividly in his mind. He drew in a long, shivering breath, forcing himself to exhale it evenly. He rubbed a palm to his eyes- which were red from crying- and wiped the remaining tears from his face.

"Sorry." He muttered.

"You don't have to apologise." Wanda told him, her eyes soft with sympathy.

"They never stop." Pietro whispered, gazing at the wall with unfocused eyes. "I don't know what to do."

Wanda laid her hand on the side of his face, turning his head towards her. "Find something you love… And hold onto it." She hugged him again, her head on his shoulder, whispering into his ear. "And never let go."


	33. Take A Breath, Try Again

Tony flickered open his eyes.

The room was pitch black. He couldn't see a thing, not even his own hand in front of his face. He heard the door open and a spark of fear twitched inside him. He quickly pushed it away and swung his legs off the edge of the bed, slipping onto the floor. He let out a yell of shock. The floor wasn't there! He found himself falling, wind rushing past his face as he plummeted down and down. His feet finally made contact with something, a hard surface, and he gasped with relief.

A dim light gradually grew from the darkness, bathing the room in a watery, yellow glow.

As the light grew, so did they. Chitauri.

They seemed to merge from the floor, from the walls.

Tony looked around wildly, looking for a weapon, an exit, anything. One ran at him, screeching furiously. He quickly ducked as it swiped at him, swinging his leg round and tripping it over. It fell to the ground with another scream and dissolved. Tony frowned in confusion.

In that second- that brief moment of distraction- his feet were swept from under him and the next thing he knew was a knife to his throat. He tried to struggle free but the Chitauri had him held tightly, slowly pressing the knife down. A loud clunk sounded and the Chitauri was knocked aside with a high-pitched wail. A blue figure raced past Tony's eye line. _Steve?_ He scrambled to his feet, getting up just in time to see Steve hit away the final Chitauri. He immediately turned round and sprinted over to Tony.

"Are you alright?" He asked, sounding worried.

"I-Yeah… Fine." Tony answered, shocked.

A shriek ripped through his ears and a Chitauri leapt out the wall, jumping at Steve's back, a jagged knife in its hand.

"Steve!"

* * *

Tony's eyes shot open.

He sat up, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with fear. His heart was racing, thumping loudly and uncomfortably in his chest. Muffled footsteps echoed down the corridor outside his room and, after a moment, Steve came racing in.

"I heard you scream. Are you okay?" He asked hurriedly, halting on the right side of the bed.

"I'm f-fine." Tony assured him. "It-It was just a dream."

He fixed his unfocused gaze on the floor and Steve sat on the edge of his bed. Tony jumped as Steve took hold of his arm, turning his wrist face up. He ran his hand over the place where the blood had been put in.

"What're you doing?" Tony questioned, his voice curious.

"Checking for infection." Steve murmured. "How're you feeing?"

"Fine." Tony mumbled.

He didn't like lying to Steve, even if it was only a tiny bit. The bullet wound hurt. The pain from it was sharp; it made his shoulder and chest ache. He always tried to hide his pain. He could look after himself, he didn't need anyone fussing over him.

"How's Clint?" Tony asked before Steve could question him any further.

Steve hesitated, making Tony's stomach do a backflip. "The operation was a success. But he's going to take a while to get back on his feet. No pun intended."

Tony swallowed, nodding. He wondered if Clint was scared. _I doubt it,_ Tony thought to himself.

* * *

"Have you done your exercises today?"

Clint looked up as Bruce walked into the room.

"Not yet."

He didn't like the exercises Bruce had given him. They hurt. He didn't complain though. Complaining wasn't in his nature. It was mostly stretching his legs, which didn't sound hard when Bruce had suggested it. How wrong he'd been. It was odd. It was as though his legs didn't know they were his. They wouldn't hold him up when he tried to stand, they hurt when he moved them.

"Are you going to do them?" Bruce queried.

He, personally, thought that Clint looked too weak to breathe, let alone try and get his non-functioning legs to work. But the archer just sighed silently and nodded. He pressed his feet against the floor, not attempting to get up, just straightening his legs. He stretched them until he trembled with the effort and pain shot through his body, but he didn't show it. Then, following Bruce's suggestion, he attempted to stand. He managed to get up, fighting to stay on his feet. His legs were shaking; they obviously couldn't take holding him up, and he fell forwards, preparing to make contact with the floor. An arm wrapped around his waist, preventing him from falling and lifting him back on the bed.

"You're pushing him too far Bruce."

Clint looked to his left, flashing a quick glance at Pietro, who was sat beside him. His blue eyes glistened with concern. Clint stared at the floor, his vision swimming. Shaking his head and blinking a few times, he cleared his sight.

"He needs to be pushed." Bruce insisted, though his voice held no irritation. "Do you want to try again?" He asked Clint softly.

The archer swallowed, nodding and pushed his legs against the floor again. He inhaled a deep breath; his whole body shook as he half stood up, pushing his hands on the bed. Suddenly he fell back down, sitting back on the bed with a heavy sigh.

"I can't do it." He muttered.

Pietro stiffened. Clint had never given up before. Maybe it was too much for him.

"Okay." Bruce's voice was calm. "Okay, that's fine..." He paused looking at Clint closely. "We'll leave you to rest. Come on Pietro."

He stood up walking over to the door. Casting a final look at Clint over his shoulder, he left the room. Pietro got to his feet, looking at the archer worriedly.

"Are you feeling okay?"

Clint nodded absently, his gaze fixed on the floor. A dubious look crossed Pietro's face but he didn't press.

"Alright." He murmured and headed for the door, opening it quietly. "I'll be back later… Get some sleep."

Clint didn't reply, his eyes still set on the ground. Sighing silently, Pietro decided it was best not to interrupt his thoughts and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.


	34. Author's Note

**Hey Guys! Hope you're enjoying this story so far!**

 **Okay, really sorry but I won't be updating for a while because i'm going away for about a week (and a few days longer so a week and 3 days. But no ones like a pedantic person, am I right? XD).**

 **I'll try write and update as soon as I can when I get back. This is just to let you know why i'm not posting chapters for the next week (In case you thought I had stopped writing :D Hah! As if. This is literally all I do, I have no social life. Fun fact for you there and now i'm rambling, sorry). So yeah... You all have a good week and I'll see you when I get back.**

 **~Eniko**


	35. Fight It Out

Clint lay awake.

It was night, very early morning even, but he didn't feel like sleeping. He just lay on his back, both hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Blinking slowly, the sound of blood rushed in his ears. He stretched his legs experimentally, narrowing his eyes as it sent a dull pain rushing through his body.

"This is not going to end well." He muttered to himself, relaxing again. "I'm never going to walk again… What do I do now?"

He frowned as he realised he had just spoken out loud, to himself. _Okay… Talking to yourself… First sign of madness Barton._ Sighing, he sat up and flicked a switch on the wall behind him, turning on the dim lights. He sat on the edge of his bed, legs hanging off the side, for hours, though it only seemed like a few moments to Clint. _What do I do if I can't walk? Just stretch all the time and sit here and do… Nothing? Could get a wheelchair I suppose…_ He made a face as he imagined himself in a wheelchair.

The door opened, startling Clint from his thoughts, and Pietro walked in. He paused halfway, looking at Clint as if he wasn't sure why he was there.

"What are you doing awake?" He asked, continuing in his stride and sitting beside Clint on the bed.

Clint shrugged and Pietro tilted his head to one side.

"Have you slept at all?"

The archer shook his head. Worry flared inside Pietro.

"You should." Pietro suggested.

"Why?" Clint frowned in confusion. "What time is it?"

"It's 7:00am Clint." Now it was Pietro's turn to look confused. "Are you telling me you stayed up all night and didn't know?" At Clint's nod, he let out a sigh. "Go to sleep."

Clint shrugged again. "There's not really much point now…" He dropped his voice to a mutter. "Might as well give it a go."

He slipped off the edge of the bed, pain shooting through his legs as his feet hit the floor. Pietro immediately sprang up and Clint raised his hand, a clear command for Pietro to leave him. The younger man gave a slight nod, but stayed standing, ready to help Clint if he fell. _It's going to work,_ Clint thought to himself determinedly. He took a deep breath, limping forward a few paces. _Holy mother of god, I'm actually sort of doing it._ He had to lean against the wall after a few steps and Pietro ran up to him, putting a hand to his shoulder.

"Okay?"

Clint nodded. "Fine."

He slowly made his way back to the bed, sitting down on the edge and raising a hand to his forehead.

"Well done." Pietro praised quietly.

"It's not enough." Clint insisted, beginning to get frustrated. "It's just not enough. I _need_ to be able to walk because I just… I just can't live like this anymore."

"Calm down." Pietro murmured, his voice soothing. "It's okay."

"No, it's not!" Clint almost growled the words. "I hate it… I can't stand it…" He broke off, running his hands through his hair and clutching both to the back of his head, his face covered by his arms.

 _Don't you dare have a mental breakdown._ Pietro frowned worriedly as Clint began to tremble a little. _Wait… What if it isn't his legs? What if the shock just made him_ _ **think**_ _he couldn't do it?_ He needed to get Clint up; doing something the archer would always give one hundred percent to. An idea suddenly struck Pietro. If he was right, and it was a psychological thing, then it might work. If he was wrong… Then he'd just get beaten up for no reason.

"Hit me."

"What?" Clint muttered, his voice muffled by his arms.

"You heard." Pietro said, getting to his feet. "Come on. Hit me."

Clint took his hands away from his head, looking up at Pietro in confusion. "Have you gone completely mad…? Why?"

"Maybe and because of reasons I'll tell you if I'm right. Now…" He held his arms to the side, giving Clint an open target of his chest. "Come on."

"I'm not going to hit you Kid."

"Why not? It might help. Clint… Get some anger out."

"I'm not angry at _you_ Pietro. You know I'm not angry at- What was that for!?"

Pietro shoved him again. "Fight back." He ordered. "Come on Barton. Where's all that training gone?"

"It's not gone anywhere. But I'm not going to fight you Kid… I can't walk anyway."

"Oh, don't be such a moron." Pietro muttered. "Let's fight Hawkeye."

He poked him again and Clint lightly swatted a hand in his direction. Pietro easily jumped back, out of the way.

"Too slow Barton." He taunted. "Where'd those reflexes fly off to?"

Clint gave a slight shrug, obviously not wishing to engage in the fight Pietro was attempting to provoke. Realising he couldn't make Clint move with words, Pietro heaved him up and shoved him into a wall. The archer immediately kicked him off and Pietro gave a small smile, not caring about the slight throb in his chest that the kick had caused. It was working.

"Quit it Kid." Clint warned. "I'm not in the mood."

"You're angry. So take it out on someone who doesn't give a damn about getting hurt."

Clint turned away, shaking his head. With a roll of his eyes, Pietro aimed a roundhouse kick at his shoulder. Reflexes suddenly lightning fast; Clint caught his foot, twisting him over. The next thing Pietro knew, he was on his back on the floor, Clint stood beside him, looking down at him with an annoyed expression. Pietro smirked up at him and swept his leg under the archer's feet, causing Clint to fall down to the ground. Pietro leapt to his feet at the same time Clint did. A clenched fist met his jaw and he fell back down, collapsing onto his hands and knees as blood welled in his mouth. _There we go._

Clint crouched beside him.

"Sorry. Sorry, it's a reflex. I didn't-"

"It's good." Pietro assured him. "That's what I wanted."

"Why? I don't… Damn it Kid, you're bleeding."

"Nicely observed Hawk." Pietro smiled.

He scrambled to his feet, wiping the back of his hand to his mouth. "Yuck." He made a face, sticking out his tongue as he brushed the blood off his hand, onto his shirt.

"Why did you do that Pietro?" Clint asked, still a little horrified by what he'd done.

"Your legs."

"What about them?"

"Do they hurt?"

"No."

Pietro smirked as Clint's face slowly fell into realisation. "Psychological. Shock of the injury might have… Oh… It was the seizure…" Pietro's eyes glazed with memory. "That made you think you weren't able to move without it hurting."

"But it did hurt."

"Yes, but half of it was in your head Clint." Pietro told him kindly. "You _were_ able to move, your mind and body just didn't want you to."

"So… You had to give me a reason to get up… And the only thing you could think of was to have me fight you?" Clint murmured quietly. He sighed at Pietro's nod. "What does that say about me then?"

"That you're a fighter." Pietro answered carefully. "We all are."

"Sometimes I wish we didn't have to fight." Clint admitted quietly.

"It's our job, isn't it?" Pietro paused for a heartbeat. "Or… At least… _your_ job."

Clint frowned a little. "You not with us Kid?"

"Well… I'm not really a proper avenger or…"

"Kid." Clint cut him off. "Make no mistake Pietro." He smiled briefly. "You are an avenger… Through and through."

* * *

 **A/N- Sorry it's a bit late. Writers block everywhere.**


	36. Work

Pietro was slammed to the floor for the hundredth time.

He let out a quiet breath of frustration, not loud enough for anyone to hear.

"Try again."

 _For crying out loud,_ he thought to himself. _Yeah, be an avenger Pietro. It's great!_

"Come on." Clint encouraged, offering him a hand.

"How about _I_ fight you Hawk?" Natasha smirked from outside the ring.

They were in a training room. He and Clint were sparring in a ring, bordered by ropes. And Clint was thrashing him. Pietro was struggling to resist the urge to just use his power and swipe the archer's feet off the ground. But Clint had told him he had to learn to fight without his power. The archer tried not to hurt him and when he did it was never deliberately.

"I don't think so Nat." Clint grinned. "Come on Kid."

Pietro took his hand, allowing Clint to help him up. The archer immediately swept his foot under Pietro's legs, tripping him over backwards. Instead of falling over, Pietro rolled over into a backflip, landing expertly in a crouch.

"Nice." Clint praised. "That was-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. While he was distracted, Pietro leapt up, wrapping his legs around Clint's neck and flinging himself backwards. The move sent Clint crashing to the ground with a little grunt of pain.

"Oh, that was awesome." Natasha commented.

A surge of satisfaction ran through Pietro, quickly evaporating as he saw that Clint hadn't moved. _Oh man… Have I hurt him?_ He sped over to him, crouching beside the archer.

"That was excellent." Clint told him cheerfully, raising his head.

"I didn't hurt you did I?" Pietro asked worriedly as Clint got up.

"You wish." Clint joked, nudging him.

Pietro smiled. It was good to see Clint making jokes and messing around. This was the Clint Pietro preferred. The smiling, joking Clint. Not the scared, uncertain man who had been there since his paralysis.

"Okay." Natasha climbed into the ring, swinging herself through the ropes. "My turn."

* * *

"Tony, what on earth are you playing at!?"

Tony jumped at the voice, smacking his head on the object he was lying under. "Ow…" He muttered, rubbing hand to his head.

He was working on an extra gun for the Quinjet, fumbling with some wires beneath the object. The gun was about the size of a single bed. He pushed against the floor, sliding himself out from under his 'project', and sitting up. Steve was stood beside him, looking down with a disbelieving expression. Tony kept his hand to his head.

"You couldn't have knocked…" He muttered.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked, crouching down beside him. "You need to rest."

"I've rested for like…" Tony shrugged, throwing his hands up briefly. "I don't know, four days? I think that's long enough." He went back under the gun, rearranging a couple of wires. "Anyway, I've got work to do."

"Work can wait." Steve insisted. "Tony, you lost more than two pints of blood. You know-"

"Yeah, yeah I know." Tony cut him off impatiently. "That's bad. I got it."

Steve sighed, pulling him out from under the gun. Tony echoed his sigh, sitting up.

"I can't sleep." He admitted.

"Have you tried?" Steve asked.

Tony gave a brief nod. "Yes. I just…" He sighed again, refusing to meet Steve's eyes. "I have nightmares, okay?"

"Often?"

"Always."

"Have…" Steve paused, not wanting to anger him. "Have you considered getting some help?"

"I have. It doesn't work. Nothing works." Tony raised a hand to his head, running his fingers through his hair. "So I just… Stay up. I work."

"But you can't… Not sleep." Steve insisted.

"I go about three or four days." Tony muttered, standing up and walking over to a desk. He picked up a screwdriver, twirling it in one hand. "Then I just do a thing I like to call 'crashing'. 'S where my body shuts down and I just… Yeah… Crash."

"That's not healthy Tony." Steve told him as he came back over to the gun, pushing himself under it.

Tony murmured in agreement, fumbling around the underside of the gun. As he was tightening a nail, his hand slipped and the screwdriver hit a clump of wires. Sparks flew and Tony shielded his face with a hand before pushing himself out.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked worriedly; he had obviously seen the sparks.

"Yeah, fine."

Feeling a stinging pain on the back of his hand, Tony looked down. A large patch of skin had burnt off his hand, leaving raw flesh. Steve took hold of his wrist, gently pulling his hand over. Tony immediately snatched it away and Steve put his hands up defensively.

"Let me look."

"It's fine." Tony insisted, getting up. "Minor burn."

He walked over to a sink in the corner of the room, turning on the cold tap and holding his burnt hand under the water. Ignoring the pain, he brushed his hand over the injury. Steve leant on the wall beside the sink, his arms folded as he looked down at Tony's hand.

"That's not minor Tony." He murmured.

Suddenly irritated, Tony switched off the water flow, turning his gaze to Steve.

"Look," He began with a slight sigh. "I appreciate your concern- I actually do- but I don't need it. I can get by on my own."

Steve met his eyes with such a look that Tony almost frowned. _What was that? Memory, grief, pity?_ Whatever it was, the sentence made Steve sigh.

"You don't have to."


	37. The Past Can Hurt

"Bet you didn't see that coming."

Pietro collapsed onto the dusty ground, his head hitting hard against the rock.

Clint quickly, but carefully, put the boy in his arms down beside the car and ran over to Pietro, crouching beside the young man. He was still alive. His body was littered with bullet wounds, blood clouding on his shirt. His chest was heaving shakily, rising and falling rapidly. He swallowed, gasping in another, struggling breath before his eyes flickered shut and a quiet sigh fell from his lips.

"No, no, no…" Clint muttered under his breath, gently turning Pietro over so he was lying on his back. "You can't die. Don't die."

Steve rushed over, crouching on Pietro's other side.

"Oh no…" He breathed the words, almost silently.

Clint laid his hands to each side of Pietro's face, turning his head to the centre. Leaning down, he put his head on the younger man's chest, his ear to Pietro's heart. He didn't care that Pietro's blood was wet and cold on his cheek. The kid couldn't be dead. He just couldn't.

"Come on. Come on, please." He whispered, adjusting his head.

A weak flutter of a heart met his ear. Clint lifted his head, briefly wiping the blood smudges from his face before moving his head over Pietro's mouth so he could listen to his breathing. Pietro was hardly moving any air but he _was_ breathing.

"He's alive." Clint murmured, straightening up. He stroked a hand to Pietro's head. "Kid…"

"Get the boy." Steve ordered, beginning to lift Pietro.

"No, wait. I-I want to take him." Clint tucked his hands under Pietro's limp form and stood up, the younger man cradled in his arms. "This is all my fault…"

Without waiting for Steve's reply, he made his way to a boat at the edge of the flying city. He didn't take his eyes off of Pietro. He got into the carrier. The doctors were immediately around him and they fixed up Pietro- best as they could- in a flash.

After they had gone, Clint took Pietro in his arms again and carefully sat down on the floor, his back to the side of a row of seats. Arranging Pietro as comfortably as possible- the younger man's back on his lap, his head resting in the crook of Clint's arm- the archer sat, stroking Pietro's head with his free hand.

Pietro's body suddenly spasmed violently. He coughed a little, his head thrashing to each side. Clint gently took the younger man's jaw in his hand, turning his face towards him a little and making a quiet hushing noise.

"Shh, shh…"

He was conscious. _No,_ Clint thought to himself. _Please go to sleep. You don't deserve to feel this pain._ Pietro's eyes flickered a little; Clint caught sight of a flash of blue before his eyes shut again. A heart-wrenching moan escaped Pietro's lips.

"Shh… It's alright." Clint whispered kindly, briefly covering Pietro's mouth with his hand, cutting off his moan of pain. "It's alright. You're safe, relax… I've got you."

When he took his hand away, to brush some loose strands of white hair from Pietro's face, the younger man let out a quiet murmur, obviously attempting to speak. Clint hushed him again but Pietro ignored it.

"Wanda…" He breathed the words weakly. "Where… Where's Wanda?"

"She's coming." Clint lied, though it ripped at his heart like knives. "She'll be here soon. I promise."

"It hurts." Pietro whimpered piteously, sounding dangerously close to tears. "I want Wanda…" He paused to take in a shuddering breath. "Need to know if… If she's okay."

Clint's eyes welled with tears. _I don't know where she is. I don't even know if she got out of the city._ He took a silent, calming breath, blinking to push the tears from his eyes and letting them fall down his cheeks.

"I'm scared…" Pietro's voice came barely above a whisper. "Oh Wanda, help me. It hurts… It hurts so much. Please help me."

"Alright, okay. She's coming kid." Clint whispered, stroking Pietro's hair. "Why don't you get some rest, hey? And by the time you wake up she'll be here, alright?"

A loud moan of protest sounded from Pietro, followed by an exhaled sentence. "Don't want rest…"

"You want your sister." Clint murmured, very slowly lifting Pietro's torso a little so he could kiss the top of his head. "I know… But she'll be here soon."

Pietro nuzzled his cheek into Clint's chest. "Thank you." He whispered quietly.

 _What for?! For you dying for me?_ Clint was about to ask what he meant but he could see Pietro was already falling asleep. Clint knew the kid wasn't thinking straight. But that didn't stop his words from upsetting the archer. Pietro relaxed, slipping into unconsciousness. Then Clint did something he'd never done before.

He hit the punch bag so hard that it broke.

 _Thwack!_

Clint staggered backwards a few paces, the flashback still swimming vividly in his mind. His back hit a wall and he slid down, sitting on the floor with his knees up in front of him. The punch bag was lying on the floor near the opposite wall, sand spilling from a rip in its side.

Clint folded his arms on his knees, burying his face. His chest felt tight and cold, almost too tight to breathe, so he ended up quickly gasping in the air. After what seemed like hours, though it could have only been a few minutes, a hand lay on his shoulder.

"Clint, breathe." A gentle voice ordered. "Come on, deep breaths."

"It's my fault Tasha." Clint muttered between heaving in fast gulps of air. "It's all my fault."

"No it's not. Whatever it is, it's not your fault." Natasha briefly, reassuringly squeezed his shoulder. "Now listen… You're having a panic attack, alright? I want you to take deeper breaths to control it. Can you do that for me?"

"I deserve it." Clint mumbled, his voice muffled by his arms. "I deserve every bad thing that happens to me. I deserve to die."

"Don't you dare say that!"

"I'm right…" He pressed his face deeper into his arms. "Better me than him. I deserve it for letting him die."

"Clint… Did you have a flashback?"

Clint nodded before raising his head off his knees. Natasha was knelt in front of him, her eyes unusually soft and glistening with concern. There was a kind of knowing, pitying look in her gaze.

"Pietro?" She guessed gently.

Clint lowered his gaze and nodded again. "Pietro."

"PTSD…" He heard Natasha mutter under her breath. "Clint, you should've told someone. You should have told me. I can help you."

"No, you can't." Clint protested quietly. "I can't be helped. It was my fault and I have to live with it. I have to see him die every time I close my eyes."

"Clint, it wasn't your fault. You know-"

Natasha broke off as the door opened and Pietro sped in, a blue flash of smoke. He looked around for a heartbeat before catching sight of Clint and racing over, skidding to a halt and crouching down beside the archer.

"Are you alright? What happened?"

Natasha frowned, looking at the younger man in confusion. "How did you know-?"

"Wanda." Pietro explained briefly, cutting her off. "She said she felt Clint's pain." He turned to Clint, concern etched on his face. "Are you injured? Where does it hurt?"

Clint shook his head. "It's not that kind of pain."

"I-I don't understand."

"Why did you do it!?" As Clint said this, he sprang to his feet, forcing Pietro up. He thrust the younger man against the wall, his forearm to his throat. "Why did you have to take those bullets for me!? You knew you'd die, I know you knew. But you did it anyway. Why?"

"I… I…" Pietro stuttered, too shocked to speak.

Clint slackened his hold, stepping back a pace. His chest heaved as he fought in quick shivering breaths.

"Clint…" Pietro murmured hesitantly, immediately shooting forward and catching the archer as he fell backwards. "Clint!"

Pietro carefully lowered the archer, laying him down gently. Clint turned to his side and grasped both hands to the back of his head, his arms covering his face. He quickly, shakily, fought in the air, his body trembling.

"Clint!" Pietro looked to Natasha. "What's happening!?"

"He's developed PTSD." Natasha explained, touching her hand to Clint's shoulder. "Clint, listen to me. It's just a flashback, alright? It's not actually happening."

"Pietro…" Clint moaned, though his voice was distant.

"He's here." Natasha assured him. "He's okay."

"No… Died… My fault…"

"Clint." Natasha's voice took a sterner edge. "It wasn't your fault. Pietro knew what he was doing. And he's not dead, alright? He's here, he's right here." Natasha made a tiny motion with her head, gesturing for Pietro to speak.

The young man swallowed. Clint was scaring him a little. _What am I supposed to do? What do I say to someone who thinks I'm dead?_

"Pietro?" Clint murmured, sounding unconvinced.

"I'm here." Pietro gently lay his hand to Clint's arm. "I'm alright."

Clint whimpered a little, the sound stabbing Pietro like a knife. He raised his hand to his mouth, clenching his fist and biting his knuckles. He was scared. Properly scared. He knew Clint was too. That was what frightened him, because he knew the archer didn't get scared easily.

A hand lay on his shoulder and he looked round, finding the understanding face of Natasha.

"Talk to him." She whispered. Pietro swallowed uncomfortably, giving a tiny shake of his head and Natasha stood up. "Pietro, he needs you."

Pietro took a silent calming breath. "Can you give us a minute?" He asked quietly.

Natasha nodded in understanding and quickly got up, shutting the door quietly behind her. Pietro looked back to Clint. Reaching out a hand, Pietro laid it to his shoulder before gently pulling him up into a sitting position. He touched his hand to the side of the archer's jaw.

"Why did you do it?" Clint whispered, blinking a few times. "Why couldn't you just let me die?"

Pietro took Clint's face in his hands. "I want you to listen to me very carefully." He murmured, seeing tears glistening in Clint's eyes. "I took those bullets for you, because you are a good person, and I saw that… Partly because my father…" His voice faltered and he lowered his hands, fumbling with them in his lap. "Because you remind me of him. And I didn't want to lose you like I lost him."

"But you died." Clint was obviously shocked by his confession, but something had changed in his eyes. The confusion was gone, not a trace of uncertainty so Pietro knew he meant his next words. "You're like my son, and I nearly lost you forever." He took hold of Pietro's hands. "Not again. I'll protect you next time, I promise."


End file.
